


Escaping Neverland

by Emblue_Sparks



Series: The Neverland Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure Romance AU, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Bugs, Canon character deaths, Caria Turkey, Chaos, Chrysler!Titan, Chuck's Supernatural book series, Completely Destiel, Crowley adores Eileen, Cuddling, Dean actually practices moderation, Dean knows ASL, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2019, Dean/Jimmy slow burn, Destiel ever after, Enochian, F/F, F/M, First Date, First kiss disaster, Fluff galore, Found Family, Fourth of July fireworks, Frottage, Garth Piggly is Fugly, Happy Ending, Heart Transplant, Heavily inspired by Peter Pan, Holding Hands, Holiday Mischief, Holy shit bed's on fire, Holy shit where's the Tylenol, Hoya Baciu Forest Romania, Hugging, Identity Issues, Incorrect demon summoning, John's the dad his kids deserve, Kissing, LGBTQ positive parents, Latin, M/M, May Sunder has some Regrets, Mental Health Issues, Mention Of Past Traumas, Mourning Rituals, NO MCD(Sam Dean Cas), No Underage Sex, Orchard Owner/Beekeeper!Cas, Practices & rituals of Sumerian/Greek/Judeo Christian faiths, Professor/Rookie Hunter!Sam, Questions/Clarification/Spoiler requests welcome, Scottish Gaelic, Snuggling, Some villainous ferrymen, Storybook I-1995, Storybook II- 2015, Strange Dreams, Switch boys, TAGS FOR 1995:, TAGS FOR 2015:, Tattooed Dean, Underage(only for first 30k), big adventure, biting kink, burger date, canon adjacent realms, cas has a dog, collective nightmares, conjuring of porn names, cum kink, despite first pairing, dialysis, everyone supports therapy, failed family placements, heart failure, heavy surgical scarring, karaoke nights, kidney/pancreatic failure, mad love for Baby, memorial rituals, mezzanine baseball, mythical Greek creatures, nurse!Dean, our island/our rules, overly confident dick in a boat, read to learn how, sad boys, shower deansturbation, some badass ferrymen, temporarily fanged Benny, vague awareness of canonverse exists, water cannons against evil, with canon elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-20 17:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 32
Words: 84,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emblue_Sparks/pseuds/Emblue_Sparks
Summary: Lawrence 1995- Sixteen year old Dean Winchester finds himself in St. Luke's Children's Hospital after an electrocution severely damages his heart. On unit Neverland he meets Jimmy, a smartass with multiple organ failure and an expiration date. They discover an immediate spark which becomes an enduring flame. But Dean struggles accepting Jimmy's fate as well as his own, if a heart cannot be found in time. As his efforts to evade the ultimate marauder are weakening, he begins drawing strength from the misfit teens of Neverland East, learning the power of found family.Lebanon 2015- Dean finally joins Sam, Jo, and Charlie in the bunker. But unexpectedly meeting Castiel, who shares an unsettling likeness to Jimmy and an equally traumatic childhood, threatens to destroy two decades of hard work moving beyond the devastating events which occurred at St. Luke's. They'd be perfect for each other, if both weren’t so damn broken. As their involvement deepens, rookie hunter Sam works a case of rising juvenile deaths, revealing a shocking connection to the surviving Neverlanders. One that's been calling them all along to perilous adventure.





	1. Storybook I - Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first DCBB! This fic has been a labor of love for two years and is very close to my heart. It's inspired by J.M. Barrie's famed novel, but is not a re-telling. Within it, I've woven parallel's, theme's, nods, and even Easter eggs. Don't be shy if you think you've spotted one, I'll love reading it when you do!
> 
> There is one scene in a later chapter which is brief, but does contain some graphic violence, and I've put a warning in the beginning of the chapter for now, until I can tackle deleting and retyping half of my tags to get to it. If you have any questions or would like spoilers/text markers at any point in the fic, please hit me up on Tumblr: @emblue-sparks
> 
> Many thanks to my Alpha, @silvie111, who handed me the scissors and told me where to cut without mercy(Y'all are better off!). Big thank you to my Beta, CastielsCarma, for yielding the best reaction to the biggest "Holy Shit" moment and everything else. My deepest appreciation to my Omega and Comma Queen, tfw_cas. She's read this fic once less than me and both our eyeballs are bleeding. Angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat was my cheerleader very early on and gave me invaluable suggestions on Jimmy. BIG Shout out to my artist, Amyeyl!!!(Both art pieces are in Chapter 29). And finally, Muchas Gracias to my medical advisor, Benka79. You inspire courage in the face of both finality and hope, possessing the strength to awaken each morning to do it all over again.
> 
> Quotes, disclaimers, and translations can be found in the chapter end notes.Ready? Stock up on a little faith, trust, and pixie dust because off we go! ENJOY!

  


**Storybook I- Lost**

“_To die will be an awfully big adventure_”- J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

** _March 3, 1995_ **

Dean was doing his damndest to keep up with Frank, even though the guy was moving at a snail's pace.

“That's it, we're shooting for consistent, not the Indy 500,” encouraged the physical therapist. 

Frank had him shuffling around the nursing station with all the enthusiasm of a herd of turtles.

“This so friggin’ frustrating; each time I get close, this damn chest pain flares right in sight of that finish line,” he breathlessly grumbled.

Frank explained, “It’s a catch 22 with the pericarditis. You should be moving around for your circulation, preventing further muscle weakness. But the flip side is the exercise could worsen your condition. How'd a strapping boy like you end up here?”

“I had an electrifying day.”

~*~*~*~

One moment Dean Winchester had been an average sixteen year old helping his step mom, Ellen, figure out why their basement flooded. Sammy watched his brother barreling down the stairs just as she’d frantically hollered about loose wires, when an ear splitting energy surge ran through the house. Fear gripped him, witnessing Dean's rigid, paralyzed form flung backwards against the wooden banister before sinking down towards the waterline. He could barely breathe as Ellen screamed for help pulling Dean up into the kitchen. 

The Lawrence trauma team took one look at Dean's heart, then sickening devastation kicked in while Sam listened to doctors explain the damage to his brother’s heart from the electrocution was far beyond their scope to heal. He faithfully prayed as the helicopter flew Dean to the nearest medical center specializing in the treatment he required.

By the time his dad arrived, every stomp of John's county issue duty boots on the linoleum were a thunder clap to Sam’s overly sensitive ears. His own father trembled violently, frantically demanding answers which frightened him even more. Was his family falling apart? He rushed to his father’s side, along with Jo, to calm him. Witnessing John and Ellen in this state made his stomach turn.

At 1:45 am a doctor entered, informing that Dean had been moved up to the Cardiac I.C.U., where very little could be done, but observe and treat appropriately as complications arose. A concentrated dose of panic stung inside a sleepy Sam like a shot of adrenaline pulsing and thundering throughout his body. He couldn't hold back the flood of tears when learning the injury to his brother’s heart and surrounding tissue was so severe, his only chance of survival was getting on a list for transplant, if one could be found in time. For now, the hospital staff would endeavor to make him as comfortable as possible; the rest was in God's hands. 

~*~*~*~

A few weeks later, Dean sat in the room awaiting transport to his new unit, and for the foreseeable future, his new home. The diagnosis regarding his heart wasn't entirely unexpected. He also suffered from random onsets of chest pain caused by pericarditis- an inflammation of the lining and sac surrounding his heart. Once well enough to receive the full gravity of the situation, he'd taken it with far more maturity than anticipated. It was John who'd struggled immensely when revealing the cold truth, that he must receive a transplant or die waiting for one.

He knew he looked and felt like death warmed over, with sallow eyes dramatically sunken in, and his thinned face a pale grey. It took a few days for reality to hit; one afternoon he found himself absentmindedly wondering who’d be trying out for Varsity baseball the following spring. Did he want to pursue that, or take auto shop taught by his dad's retired partner, Bobby Singer? Mulling over if he'd rather hold a bat or a grease stained wrench, glancing at the blue hue of what should be healthy, pink fingertips brought him back to harsh reality. While other kids would be having the luxury of these decisions, he was just trying to walk from one end of his shoe box of a hospital room to the other. The epiphany he might not be around to attend Algebra class, let alone tinker with cars, broadsided him. 

He didn't speak for six days. It was finally Sam, so distraught by the turn in his brother's behavior, who pulled him out of his silence. Dean's wit darkened, though he tried the hardest for Sammy.

“Dude, I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot.”

“That's not funny Dean.”

A lame psychologist paid him visits every few days; he performed valiantly, spewing forth exactly what they wanted to hear. But deep inside he was angry and hurting because what had befallen him seemed without reason, and was so goddamn unfair.

Frank was there to help get him moving around again, but his respiratory therapist was a different story. He swore she was trying to gas him to death with those noxious treatments. Every afternoon Meg came rolling by with her cart of torture equipment, watching him breathe in a foul aerosol inhalant tasting like sulfur. 

“You know, carbon monoxide doesn’t even have a taste or smell and would accomplish the job so much quicker “_Fräulein,” _he grumbled from behind the green tinted mask. He did his best to exhale as hard as he could through painful, wracking coughs. 

“You really know how to compliment a girl, dontcha Dean?” she sardonically cooed.

“You can attempt to murder someone else from now on, today’s my last day in the I.C.U. It's been real.” 

Meg raised an eyebrow in modest amusement, “You think this is the last you’ll see of me and my cart of curiosities? Deeean, my dominion doth stretch far and wide. I have your new unit and room number right here,” she patted the front pocket of her scrubs. 

“Get acquainted with your new roommate. You can't escape that easily Mr. Winchester, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she declared, backing out of the room, torture cart in tow.

“Is that a date or a threat?” All he got was a wink in response as she skulked around the corner towards her next victim.

A roommate? Huh, he hadn't even considered that. 

~*~*~*~

Sitting in his newer, larger room, which was currently void of another occupant, Dean cataloged signs of habitation. Behind a half drawn curtain, cheerfully bedecked in row boats and criss crossed oars, a small collection of worn books were nestled upon the dresser below the windowsill. A framed photograph sat on a shelf next to the dresser revealing a boy with dark, unruly hair, and another boy in his late teens with darker skin and black hair tightly hugging the younger. Dean wondered what sort of kid he was. 

Not long after, a boy was wheeled into the room. He fought off sleep just long enough for the transport guy to help him to bed with nary a sign he was aware of Dean. Around his left bicep were large, puffy bandages. The kid looked positively _ done _ as he lazily tugged his blankets over himself. Moments later, the slow and steady rhythm of breathing took over and his body relaxed into a very needed sleep.

When dinner came, Dean realized no meal was provided for his roommate, who continued sleeping like the dead. After eating, Dean shuffled to the boy’s nightstand, quietly leaving him his apple juice and graham crackers, just in case he woke up hungry during the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we think these roomies will get along or butt heads first?
> 
> “To die will be an awfully big adventure”- J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


	2. Chapter 2

Dean heard the crackling of plastic and soft movement on the other side of the room. His roommate had greeted the day and was staring at him with unconcealed curiosity. Head tilting slightly to one side, he drank the apple juice left for him the night before. The package of graham crackers had been silently returned to his own nightstand. 

“They're high in phosphorus, I can't have them. But thanks anyways.”

Something about his voice stirred Dean's soul, it was low for someone his age. His heart experienced one of the many wonky beats which had become part of his new norm. The guy also had the most piercing blue eyes, giving the impression he might literally be able to immobilize someone through stare alone. 

“I'm Jim Novak by the way. And you are?”

Dean stuttered clumsily through a response which he normally returned with confidence and ease, “I..um..I-Dean. Dean Winchester. Got here yesterday, but you looked pretty beat, didn't wanna disturb you.”

Jim shrugged his shoulders, “Always am after treatment, the machines are like medicinal vampires.” 

Hopping out of bed with more energy, he wrote a number on the whiteboard hanging on the wall. Dean looked at him questioningly. 

“I’s and O’s. I'm on fluid restriction, have to measure what goes in and out.”

“Sounds like a pain in the ass,” Dean blurted out.

“Only if I don't drink _ enough,_” Jim shot back. He pulled a small box from the dresser and checked his blood sugar.

Gross humor. Dean and this kid would get along fine. 

“So what are you in for?” Jim posed like a repeat jail offender.

“Tussled with too many volts in my basement, my heart's fried beyond repair. Lookin’ at transplant or death.”

“Sounds like a shocking experience.” 

Dean snorted. A smile pulled at the right corner of his mouth, “Something like that, yeah. You?”

“Nonspecific pancreatic failure. Diabetes came free with the defective pancreas and a couple of crap kidneys. Two systems down for the price of one.”

“You're waiting for transplant too?”

“Hmm supposedly,” Jim stated pensively. “Been out yet? Met the other inmates of Tower Eight?”

“Nah, just got here yesterday from I.C.U. Ain't exactly Speed Racer right now, not enough O2 yet.”

“We’ll work on that after breakfast, but first, bon appetit,” Jim offered. 

They chattered throughout breakfast with ease. Jim was a science nerd. He had a major thing for winged insects and claimed he’d like to pursue Entomology, if it was in the cards. He liked cars, but admittedly didn't have much knowledge about the muscle era, despite being willing to learn. 

That elicited an enthusiastic wink from Dean who recycled the line, “We’ll work on that after breakfast.” 

Jim really liked that idea. Dean saw the back of his neck and ears turn pink. Something about the response made his tummy twist in a pleasant way. He trudged towards his wheelchair, neatly tucked in the corner. 

It pulled out and popped open smoothly, so he made for the front to sit down when Jim asked, “Can you walk?”

“Yeah, but I wear out pretty easy so..." 

“Neverland isn’t too far, maybe you could push it like a walker? Ya get too tired I can wheel you around. What are your restrictions?” Jim asked curiously.

Neverland? Eh. He’d find out soon enough. “Uhh.. no heavy lifting, watch my O2 sat, stop if the machine alarms, and no golfing in a lightning storm.”

“Sonuvabitch, there goes tomorrows tee time,” Jim barked incredulously, hands on his hips in feigned annoyance.

As Dean looked up to snark something right back, he was hit with a stunning smile from a guy who was every bit a smart ass as himself. His hands were already gripping the chair handles, and he was ready to walk across the street into the local pizza joint if Jim would keep grinning at him like that. He did his best getting down the hall to this ‘Neverland’ without needing a push. 

~*~*~*~

Neverland had been pretty cool, and was immediately obvious why it had been so named. The common room's appearance was reminiscent of a luxurious interior hideout from Neverland. It boasted a massive, wheelchair accessible pirate ship play structure Captain Hook himself would approve of. One wall had a mural of Mermaid Lagoon, and another with the London Clock Tower under a star-filled sky. Dean learned there were two wings on the unit. The little ones resided on Neverland West. Dean, Jim, and his merry band of misfit teens were from Neverland East. 

He’d met Ash, a spunky seventeen year old with stage three Anaplastic Glioma. In basic terms, a _ really bad brain tumor_. The guy zipped around in a motorized wheelchair, had some trouble speaking, but was sporting the most outrageous mullet wig. Dean secretly thought it was pretty rad. Ash was super smart and laid back, Dean really hoped he recovered. 

Then there was Garth, an awkward, lanky fifteen year old with a severe case of Type 1 Diabetes and a sock puppet named Mr. Fizzles, who liked raising the spirits of the little ones. Garth was a frequent guest of St. Luke's, and currently volunteering for some new clinical trials. 

Charlie was a fiery thirteen year old computer geek suffering from never ending optimism and Scoliosis. She too was a frequent flyer. Then he met Benny, a sixteen year old with Sickle Cell Anemia. His transfusions could be done outpatient, but it was his nearly lethal reactions to the transfusions that had everyone agreeing he should check in for the duration.

The group bantered a little while, then dispersed as various treatments called, or energy levels waned. Dean was glad to have met them but was admittedly worn out. The day was still young and mentally he wasn't ready to go back to bed. 

As his mood was turning south, Jim leaned down and quietly asked, “Ready to sit back and finish the tour?”

“Ya read my mind."

So many little kids around the unit waved and smiled at Jim. Dean wondered how long he’d been there, for so many to know him. 

Back in their room, Dean learned Jim was sixteen too, and the length of time he’d spent in St. Luke's was shocking.

“I was adopted when I was four, my parents were really great,” Jim said wistfully. 

“Were?” 

“An F4 touched down in Smith County near home, in Lebanon where they worked, it took out every building on the street.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief, letting it sink in. “So did other family take you in?”

“They didn’t have any other family, my brother was already a freshman at K.U. I hung around the receiving home for a while; not many families want a 'special needs’ kid. Been here since things got really bad with my health three years ago. My brother visits me a lot.”

Dean felt sick for Jim. He had no right to complain about his own situation when Ellen, Jo, Sam, and his dad loved him so much it was downright annoying at times. Jim had almost no one, and crap health on top of it. “But you’ll get better with a transplant, right?”

“Most people do,” he answered, “What about you? What's your story?”

“My mom died when I was four, Sammy was six months old. She was a sheriff, same station as my dad. Her partner was my dad's best friend and my step mom’s husband. They died while evacuating a fire. Ellen had just found out she was pregnant with Jo when it happened. Two years later she and dad got married. I remember my mom a little, but Ellen and Jo are family.”

They heard a knock at the door, when Ellen plus two waltzed in, Dean’s face lit up with a grin as he joyfully exclaimed, “And speak of the devils! Jim, this is Ellen, Sammy, and little Jo.”

Jo wrinkled her nose in disapproval and argued, “I am not _little_, Dean!”

“My humblest apologies!” Dean placated, playfully rolling his eyes. “Though she _ in truth _be little,” he paused, holding up one finger to quiet her emerging protest, “she is fierce.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Jim said with mild shyness.

Ellen tried hiding a modest look of surprise at the remarkable improvement in Dean’s mood from previous weeks. “Well, I’m glad he’ll have someone to jaw with from now on. Dean’s a smart alec, but a good kid.”

“Uh...Yes ma’am, I’m aware,” Jim bashfully replied. Then pointedly looking at Dean he added, ”but I can dish it as well as I take it.”

Dean felt time stop, as if Jim held them there in the moment with his gaze alone. Something passed between them, though he couldn’t say what.

Ellen spent a few seconds shifting her eyes curiously between the two boys and awkwardly offered, ‘Uh-huh, sounds like two peas in a pod.”

Dean was snapped out of the moment by the monitor alarming, his O2 sat had dropped. Great. Now his emotional climate would be public knowledge along with his vital signs. Could this be more embarrassing?

Using hand gestures, he implored calm. It’d taken weeks to accurately interpret what his body was telling him versus what the machines were reading. When the alarm finally stopped, everyone’s faces relaxed. The embarrassment was harder to shake off, so he was relieved when Sammy spoke up with a blessed change in subject.

“We brought your Gameboy,” he announced, carefully setting it on the blanket draped over Dean’s legs.

“Thanks, Bitch,” he smiled. What was Ellen gonna do, yell at him? 

Sam replied with the usual, “Jerk” but it was eclipsed by Ellen’s ire and immediate execution of consequence. 

“Aaaand we’re taking that right back thank you very much,” she shot at Dean with the verbal sharpness of a whip, holding her hand out expectantly.

Ah. _ That’s _ what she could do. Dammit. 

Ellen picked up a small suitcase and started putting clothes in his dresser. It did not go unnoticed some of his favorite, most comfortable items had been selected, along with his walkman, a few cassette tapes, and a book he’d been enjoying before the accident. She also brought the latest editions of Sports Illustrated and Muscle Car Review.

Ellen mentioned John would visit in a few hours before heading back for his graveyard shift. He hugged her extra tight, whispering a proper apology for his foul mouth, and a sincere ‘thank you’ for the suitcase full of home comforts. 

~*~*~*~

Later that afternoon Dean groaned. Jim looked over from a book and tilted his head in question. It was kinda cute the way he did that, like a confused puppy. 

“Meg. The demon torturer. I’d give my left nut for a day without her gas chamber breathing treatments.”

Jim looked at him like he was crazy and clarified, “Meg? You're talking about Respiratory Therapist Meg?”

“The one and only. At least I hope there's only one.”

“She's nice Dean, and actually does some pretty cool things.”

“Yeah, if yer into breath play maybe.”

As with most sixteen year olds, Dean liked to believe he was as wholesome as an Irish Car Bomb. “I'll explain later, Wonderbread,” Dean huffed. 

Jim was thoroughly befuddled at that point but recognized Meg’s approach, and swiftly offered to show Dean another hangout spot if he promised to behave. 

“Afternoon Jim, how ya been?” she asked with genuine care.

“Novak-1/ Death-0.” 

“Leading the race, I like that!” she cried, fist pumping the air. Then turning to her patient, “You Sir..been exerting yourself?” 

“No! Well..kinda..is that a bad thing?” Dean wondered. She handed him the spirometer and raised an eyebrow when the number he blew failed to impress. 

“Exertion is good. Over exertion is not,” she explained while pouring the prescribed inhalant solution in the cup-like piece of plastic attached to his mask. “Let's see if we can boost those stats and get you back in today's game.” 

He begrudgingly, but silently, masked up. Dean felt extra gross, but held his tongue when remembering Jim’s bribe. He found himself trying harder than usual to get the medicine in, by the time the solution ran out Meg was looking at his vitals with approval. 

He blew in the spirometer and the number elicited quite the smirk from Meg. “Well, well. Do mine eyes deceive, or is that a _ much _ higher number than a few minutes ago? I can't tell over the sound of me trying to murder you, Mr. Winchester…” 

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe not..for once,” Dean managed in acknowledgment. 

“Stick around Dean-O. I might actually know a trick or two that'll get you moving around like a ‘real’ boy..maybe even without strings. Keep up the good work. Nice seeing ya, Jim!” 

Jim waved goodbye to Meg and popped open Dean’s wheelchair.

“I’ll try walking again.”

They made it to the Common Room, a.k.a. Neverland, waving to Garth who sat at a table engaged in conversation with a younger kid in fits and giggles. 

They went through a door previously closed that morning. Dean was winded and plopped his butt in the chair to be pushed the rest of the way, which ended up being just around the corner. 

His eyes followed the modest decline of the floor dipping into a semicircle which veered left. The Romanesque railings were dramatic, they wrapped around a large empty space, dropping down another floor, reminding him of a deep chasm in which a titan from the ancient world might dwell. Enormous windows boasted a view of the skyline, which he imagined provided ample view of night's twinkling stars, smiling upon him..and..a friend. 

On the other side of the semi circle, another decline led down to the next floor. Several hospital beds stored there made Dean giddy, this wasn't technically a room for kids, yet there were hills to race down, stars to watch, and beds offering quiet and rest from the noise of the unit. 

“It's a mezzanine leading to the first floor of the old reception area. It's nice to get off the casino floor sometimes.”

Dean agreed and felt himself moving again down the long slope towards the semi circle. Jim set the brakes on the chair and walked a few feet away, but not before gently dropping something in Dean’s lap. Glancing down, he found a worn baseball glove and ball begging to be used, then up again at a friend, waiting a few feet away with a patient smile. 

For weeks Dean silently wondered if anything in his possibly shortened life would feel normal again, yet feared the answer too much to ask. Catch with a friend felt so wonderfully normal and in only one day it was Jim, this weird, dorky guy, who’d gifted a small piece of it back to him. 

Taken aback by how much the gesture meant, he opted for a heartfelt, “Awesome” in thanks. 

He couldn't throw very far and Jim anticipated as much. They talked about their favorite players and teams. Jim liked Barry Bonds from the Giants, Dean agreed he was pretty good, but remained loyal to the White Sox’s first baseman, Frank Thomas, who was favored to win the year's MVP award.

Jim’s brother had fostered his interest in the sport, bringing him the ball and glove. During their visits, they’d come here to play.

“Speaking of not feeling hot, you look tired again and I'll need my binders.”

Dean didn't want to stop, but made no protest as he was wheeled up the smooth incline and around the corner into Neverland. “Binders?” 

“They disperse and bind to the extra phosphate in my bloodstream after meals so there isn't a build up. Helps make the dialysis more effective.”

“How often do you get that done?” 

“Three days a week, four hour treatments.” Jim's unmistakable tone conveyed disdain.

“Four hours each time?!” 

Dean instantly re-evaluated any previous bitching he’d done about a fifteen minute breathing treatment each day. 

“Is that where you were yesterday?”

“Yep. And it's where I’ll be tomorrow afternoon. Sorry ahead of time if I just crash when I come back.”

“Nah, it's cool. I ain't exactly the Energizer Bunny myself these days.”

“Never would've guessed, blue looks so good on you.”

Dean chuckled heartily, then paused when spotting his father in Sheriff's attire, greeting them both with a cautious expression.

“Dad! Hey! I didn't know you were here already!” 

John scanned for injuries or signs of crazy, but grinned in relief at seeing his son in better spirits. “Haven't been here long, your nurse said you were out for a spin.”

“Jim’s showed me around the unit today,” he explained, gesturing an introduction. 

“Jim, how are you?” John asked pleasantly, offering his hand. 

“I’m alright, Sir. Nice to meet you,” replied Jim with steady eye contact and a firm handshake. 

_ That _ got John's attention. While Dean knew his dad was a teddy bear, his friends were intimidated. So when someone Dean’s age could properly introduce themselves, they had John’s respect. 

“I appreciate you showing my son the ropes. Glad he'll have some good company. Looks a tad more exciting on this floor than the I.C.U.”

“Eh, sometimes it's good exciting, sometimes not. I’ve been pitching wheelchair races for us older kids, but it seems that brand of entertainment is frowned upon in this establishment.”

John quietly laughed, then Dean’s tummy loudly grumbled. 

“Someone's sure hungry,” John commented lightheartedly, and lovingly placed his hand on his son’s shoulder, “glad your appetite’s back.” 

Dean peered out into the hallway, preoccupied with the notion of dinner as the dietary cart stopped short of their door.

John carefully hugged Dean. “I’m gonna head out and let you boys eat. Just wanted to see the new place, make sure you were settled.”

“Will you come back soon? Tomorrow?”

“We laid concrete this morning, tomorrow we’ll move everything back from the garage. But I negotiated a few days off before Easter to get some work done on the Impala and visit with you,” he happily reported. 

Conversation continued to flow easily between them during dinner. Jim pushed more food around his plate than he ate. He hadn't touched most of his lunch either. Dean wondered if his conditions affected his appetite, or if he just didn't like the food. 

A man came in greeting Jim with warm familiarity. He was of average height, had a slight five o'clock shadow, and his darker skin gave Dean the impression he was of middle eastern descent. 

“Hey! Dean, this is my brother Hannah.” Jim's face lit up like Christmas.

“H-Hannah? Uh, hey..nice to meet you,” Dean tried hiding how the name tripped him up. The guy’s amused smile conveyed Dean’s confusion was a common occurrence, and no offense was taken. 

“It's a nickname. I was born in Beirut; our parents kept my Lebanese name after the adoption. When Jim first came to us he was little and had a hard time pronouncing my name in Arabic. He started calling me Hannah because it was easier and sounds close. It stuck and now everyone calls me that.”

“Oh! That makes sense. I'm Dean.”

Hannah took off his shoulder bag and pulled out his baseball glove. “You guys up for some catch after dinner?” 

“Ready when you are,” Jim said, pushing the tray table away and quickly testing his blood sugar.

“I'm kinda tired. Think I’ll look through the magazines I got earlier. Thanks though,” yawned Dean.

When returning an hour later, Jim enthusiastically pulled up a chair, asking about 'the car'. For the rest of the evening, he was told stories about the only girl ever to steal Dean’s heart, his future pride and joy, named Baby. Usually, his friends back home listened to him prattle on about his 'precious’, but even they had their limit. Jim, however, prodded him for just “one more” long into the night.

Dean had met someone who didn't tiptoe around his condition, wasn't afraid to make jokes about it, made him want to get better or die trying, gave him back a little bit of normal, understood a brother's bond, and would seemingly never tire of hearing about his Baby. 

Drifting off to sleep that night, he was completely unaware how much Jim, over the next several months, would mean to him. Nor could he anticipate how the significance of their bond would critically shape the man he was to become. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we think of Jim? Who wants more of the Lost Teens?


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few days, Dean met more doctors and nurses instrumental in helping him stay alive. Dr. Gabriel Speight was the head of Pediatric Cardiology, and took particular interest in his case, along with his wife Dr. Kali, a cardiac surgeon. Dean also became accustomed to Jim’s visits from Dr. Balthazar Roché, a resident specializing in nephrology and metabolic medicine. 

He often saw a jovial red headed nurse named Rowena, lovingly swarmed by children. Without her purple scrubs and stethoscope, Dean would’ve mistaken her as a patient due to her pixie-like stature. Commanding a strong sense of authority, she ran a tight ship over in Neverland West. 

Dean met the teacher Jim now shared with him; Mr. Tran, who was kind and laid back. Within a few days, the boys quickly fell into a schedule that was unconventional, yet suited their medical needs and energy levels. 

“I've been in contact with your school, and customized a manageable plan for you to make up lessons and assignments missed in the last several weeks, so you don't have to repeat the year. You'll have to work into summer a bit of course.” 

Dean vowed to study extra hard, minimizing the loss of valuable days more enjoyably spent hanging out with Jim and their friends. 

March became April, and as days flew by Dean grew more appreciative of Jim’s unique, time-stopping stares. Not only did they cause pleasant butterflies in his stomach, but the blatant interest yielded an uncanny ability to recognize almost before Dean, when the symptoms of pericarditis reared its ugly head. 

One day after a particularly painful episode, Dean was emotionally vulnerable and felt compelled to convey his gratitude. 

“Hey Jim,” he nervously began, twiddling his thumbs.

“Yeah?” A comforting weight settled on his bed nearby.

“I..uh..,” his heart was already flying, making it difficult to start. “Just wanna say, thanks. For always staying close so I don't fall, making sure there's enough oxygen when we head out. You know right where the nurses are when things get..rough.”

“I want to make sure you're okay, no matter where we are.”

“But it's more than that. You, I dunno, somehow you know when my heart’s gonna hurt, even before I even do half the time.”

Jim lightened the mood as only a rare teenage soul can. Sighing deeply, dramatically setting a tone, “I have a confession to make, but you can’t tell anyone.”

Dean's attention lifted to Jim's face and stayed there, expectantly.

“Something happened to me a few years ago on a class field trip to OsCorp. I was bitten by a radioactive spider.”

Dean chuckled, his shyness waned, and he conjured enough smart-assery to level up. “No shit? Well, I'm a perfect candidate for an Iron Man suit these days.”

Grinning ear to ear, Jim fired right back with, “And there's always something alluring about guys with secret identities.”

His emotions went haywire, reacting as if a euphoria bomb had ripped through to his core. Watching Jim's face light up, intensifying with shades of red he never knew existed was new, exhilarating. 

He knew Jim empathized better than anyone, having witnessed first hand the hell his roommate chronically suffered. Two days after Easter they’d been watching the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, he'd had difficulty staying comfortable on his bed. Dean noticed him breathing heavily, his face glistening with a sweat that came on alarmingly fast.

“You doin’ alright?”

Jim’s face went bone white, he pitched forward on his bed, holding his midsection. Slowly shaking his head, he emitted an agonizing guttural sound, drowning out the TV. Dean shut it off and pushed his call button while Jim raced towards the bathroom, still hunching over in obvious discomfort. 

“What can I help you with Dean?” Tessa, the night nurse, calmly chirped through the call button speaker.

“Jim’s sick, can you come check on him?”

“On my way.”

Dean knocked on the bathroom door, but heard the unmistakable sound of someone losing their dinner. In between the heaving and coughs, were muffled yelps of worsening pain. 

Tessa swiftly rounded the corner. “Jim it's Tessa. May I come in?”

The door opened a crack and she slid in, closing it behind her. Dean wished there was something he could do. 

Thirty seconds later she opened the door and asked, “Dean, can you push your call button please?”

He leaned over his bed and did as she asked. “Hi Dean, what do you need?”

Tessa gestured for him to turn the device in her direction, ”Hey Alex, it's me. Can you quickly bring me fifty milligrams of Tramadol, Gabapentin, four milligrams of Zofran, and get someone from lift team?”

“On it!” was the crackled reply.

For the next ten minutes, Jim continued to vomit and cry out in pain, while Tessa gave him the meds through his port, trying to soothe him until a large man in light blue scrubs picked him up and gingerly put him to bed. Alex brought in a heating pad for him to hold against his stomach, placed an oxygen cannula on him like Dean's, and administered aspirin for the fever. He’d seen Sammy down with the flu and helped Ellen once when Jo had severe croup. Neither compared to how Jim was suffering. 

He’d shivered uncontrollably and sweated profusely throughout the night as a high fever raged through him. Fate had already been so cruel to Jim with the curse of withering health, then loving parents taken from him far before their time. The only thing to do was reassure him he wasn't alone. Moving his wheelchair beside the bed, Dean placed a hand lightly against Jim’s leg, with the stillness of the night’s usual comfort absent, as hours passed. 

It could've been the shifting of city lights, or his evening medicine. Maybe his imagination had run wild, which would certainly explain the faint echo of wind chimes and buzzing he _ thought _ he heard. And every so often he’d catch a greenish shadow out of the corner of his eye, leaning along the wall as if peering over Jim. Crazy or not, his resolve to stay at his friend’s side never wavered. There he remained for the rest of the night, despite Tessa's protests. 

This spell of pancreatitis was a brutal reminder Jim was very much ailing from potentially fatal disorders. He understood the injustice of death attempting to end his life when it had barely just begun. So for his new friend, he could and would be by his side whenever he needed it. 

~*~*~*~

Towards the end of April, Dean still looked like Death in Reeboks, and his collection of travel size oxygen equipment was his most prominent fashion accessory. The spiffy pitch black wheelchair was utilized daily, more often as a walker than not. But weeks on the transplant unit had begun turning his once biting wit into light, and often playful sarcasm. 

One Saturday morning, nurse Jess was finishing up an insulin injection for Jim, and Dean was in a particularly mischievous mood. He fiddled with his excessively long oxygen tubes like a cowboy with a lasso. 

As Jess headed towards the door, she rolled her eyes in amusement, her voice trailing into the hall, “You think you’re some Cowboy? Won’t get far unless you find a horse! Behave boys.”

“Save the horse, ride a cowboy!” Jim called after her with a smirk.

That got a chuckle out of Dean, who belatedly answered Jess with, “Hey! I think I’m adorable.”

“I agree.”

Dean snorted, laughed again, then it registered. “Wait, what?” 

His eyes shot up to Jim’s face which was already turning pink. He wore a sheepish smile and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, _ just calling it like I see it. _

A myriad of feelings washed over him, but the whole brain-mouth thing wasn’t happening, and he stood there like a speechless idiot holding a plastic lasso. 

Feelings he hadn’t been able to identify suddenly presented with greater intensity. He’d been on the edge of an epiphany, but it was unjustly taken by an obnoxious thief. The heart monitor around his waist alarmed loudly. He breathed deeply in extreme frustration, and balled his fists.

Jim chuckled, “You look like someone contemplating electronic destruction.”

“Yeah,_ that_.” 

What was he supposed to say? Was the moment gone? How could he bring it back? _ Was _he supposed to bring it back? 

Dean had no clue how to navigate through this whole new territory he just found himself in. Two things needed to happen, first- mute the goddamned monitor. And second- figure out how he felt about Jim. 

Was he freaked out by what Jim said? _ No_. Ever since he was old enough to consider someone good looking, there were both girls _ and _ boys he’d liked. 

If any of his other friends had had the same response as Jim, how would he feel about it? Ehhh, _ weird_. So he liked Jim, differently than he liked his other friends, and Jim agreeing he was adorable didn’t bother him. In fact, he was startled, realizing he wanted to say it back. _ Holy shit_. He finally understood all the crazy girls at school. He didn’t just like Jim, he _ ‘liked’_, liked him. 

Suddenly Jim was there, right up in his personal space touching the monitor, bumping and brushing against his hands in an effort to stop the offensive alerts. He stood there gawking at the messy dark hair, the tan skin of the guy’s hands and neck, and now a pair of stunning blue eyes gazing at him. Dean thought Jim was cute. _ Really cute_. What was he supposed to do now?

Nothing. He did absolutely nothing, because Benny and Charlie were paying them a visit.

“Giving you guys an update on Ash, it's not looking good. His roommate says he lost more motor function the last two days, he's not speaking. Lots of family's been in and out. We’re still pulling for him though,” Benny’s voice faded.

The news made Dean's stomach sink. In theory, he knew some kids just weren't gonna make it. But getting to know someone, becoming their friend, and then losing them, was another thing entirely. 

“Is he hurting?” he whispered roughly, his mouth having suddenly gone bone dry. 

Charlie shook her head. “The medical journals in the databases I’ve hacked say his muscles will stop taking messages from his brain. First his limbs, then other systems will follow like dominoes. Eventually, the muscles around his lungs and heart will cease to function. He’s alert and comfortable for now, but later they’ll heavily sedate him.”

“Jesus Christ…” Benny cursed.

Jim gave her a hug. Unsure what to say, they all stood around for a bit, until she broke the ice. “Anybody up for some Uno? Or Street Fighter? I’ll kick yer asses.”

“I accept that challenge,” Dean replied, playfully nudging her shoulder. 

It seemed a tradition with this group, leaving an extra bean bag available when gaming, or an open spot at the tables. He wondered, was it done in remembrance of someone lost, or to welcome someone new? He felt a unique camaraderie among them, realizing what mattered most was the continuous room made in their hearts for both.

The next morning Ash was unable to breathe on his own, and two days later he was gone. Charlie gathered the main kids in the group. Jess silently led them off unit after face masks were on. 

Down on the first floor, they entered a spacious atrium in the hospital’s northeast corner next to the chapel. It was filled with beautiful plants and warm sunshine. Dean watched Jess hand something to Jim, regarding him with respect and reverence. She hugged him, then unobtrusively took a seat by the door.

Against the center window leaned a wide lattice, cradled by sturdy greenery. As Dean stood beside Jim, the purpose of this odd field trip became clear. Around the star shaped spaces hung dozens of hospital bracelets, like the one Jim held in his hand. On the yellow bracelet was printed Ash's full name. The surname and year of birth were blacked out for patient confidentiality. Jim’s face was unreadable, clasping the bracelet around the lattice next to a few others. He bowed his head in respect and sorrow for another friend lost. 

Dean saw him fighting back tears, and considered the horror of witnessing three years worth of bracelets added to the memorial. He couldn't imagine that level of grief, there wasn’t anything he could say to make him feel better. But he remembered what he _ could _ do. Summoning the courage, he took Jim’s hand in his own, silently conveying his support. He received a wistful smile in thanks, and watched as Jim pulled a sniffling Charlie into his other side. A few older kids offered some words, a couple of the younger ones asked questions. 

Now Dean understood why Jess remained by the door, on the fringe of the delicate processes occurring within the atrium. This was a space created for children to safely process and mourn the lives they’d connected with, and lost. It’d been built by those who understood a child experienced grief with no less validity than adults. Healing from loss was equal to the importance of healing from illness. Everything they needed to feel in this process _mattered_. 

He saw Jim lean down, placing something heavy-sounding in a small drawstring pouch tied to the back of the lattice which Dean hadn't previously noticed. Others stepped forward, doing the same. 

Jim whispered, “Wasn't sure if you had any coin. I put plenty in for the ferrymen from both of us.”

“I should've known better. I'll have Ellen bring me some.” 

Most families kept a modest amount in a secure safe at home. Coin wasn’t hard to procure from local county clerk’s offices, but depending on the day and circumstances of death, it was far more convenient having at least a handful at home. 

Usually, the ritual required only family offer coin. But when it was unknown for certain if the deceased was provided coin for the ferrymen, even children’s offerings of small, but cherished personal items were believed to be graciously accepted by the mythical entities who ferry souls to heaven. 

Walking upstairs, Dean realized Jim’s hand was still in his own. He didn't mind, and hoped Jim would keep it there as long as he needed to. They spent the rest of the afternoon sitting closely on the bed by the window, a Winchester tirelessly asking a Novak for “just one more story” about insects. 

~*~*~*~

Late May brought a lightness to the unit. Dean wondered if Jim shared an observation he'd made in the previous weeks.

“You notice Dr. Rochés been showing up a lot when Hannah visits?” Dean asked one afternoon while they snacked, watching Jurassic Park for the second time.

“Yeah I geth tho,” Jim garbled, biting a turkey wrapped apple slice.

“Maybe I’m seeing things, but Hannah gets kind of a mushy look when he’s here.”

“Like the kind your brother gets when Jess comes in?”

“Ha! Yeah, that one,” Dean gleefully replied, throwing another piece of popcorn in his mouth.

“He could do worse.”

“What? Dude, she’s like twenty five. Sam’s ten.” 

“_My _ brother, not Sam, you dork. Hannah could do worse. Dr. Roché seems like a good guy.”

Dean was pleased with Jim’s openness about it and prodded a little further. “Would your parents have minded?”

“Nuh-uh. He came out his junior year of high school, they were fine with it.”

“Really? That’s pretty cool.”

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “They said people were put on this earth to love each other. Period.” He wiped his hands off with a napkin, brushed off his jeans, then continued, ”Some people get their panties in a twist over it. You know what I think?”

Dean very much wanted to know. “What?” 

“Life’s too damn short. Love who you can.” Jim spent longer than he should have looking softly at him.

Dean melted at the quizzical head tilt Jim was giving him. Again, his sixteen year old brain was at a loss as to what he should say, and again he was relieved of the opportunity, this time by Mr. Fizzles.

“There’s somebody new here todaaaaayyy,” Mr. Fizzles droned from around the corner. Garth, and some freakishly tall dude looking somewhat rattled entered their room. “Guys, this is Zeke. He’s twelve.”

“Twelve?!?!” Dean and Jim shrieked in unison. 

“In Norway maybe, what are you? Like five-eleven? Six feet?” Dean humorously demanded.

“Six-one and growing. That’s why I’m here,” Zeke timidly answered, tugging nervously at his oxygen tube. “It’s putting stress on my heart, which is also too big.”

“Pull up a chair, shorter Dolph Lundgren. We’re about to watch a T Rex eat somebody,” Jim insisted. 

That seemed to be the icebreaker Zeke needed, and just like that, he was welcomed into the fold.

~*~*~*~

One night they’d been fighting deep in the tunnels of Doom on PlayStation, when Dean noticed the player two screen slow to a stop. He looked over at Jim, his eyes were glazed and barely open.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, putting his hand on Jim's shoulder. 

“Haven’t turned that yet..have going...” 

“Shit!” Dean cussed. He chucked the gaming controller and struggled to get out of the bean bag chair.

Zeke had been chilling behind them, waiting his turn. “Want me to get the nurse?”

“Yeah. Use the intercom on the wall. Tell'em his blood sugar dropped, he’s not responding.”

“Got it!” 

“Jim! C’mon. Hey!” Dean shook Jim carefully. 

His eyes drooped shut, then his body went rigid with seizure. 

“No! No! No!” he yelled, fear clawing at his insides. 

“Dean! Is he conscious?” Zeke asked.

“Tell her he’s seizing! She needs to get here now!” 

Alex ran in with a monitor and a test strip, instructing Dean to keep him upright and still while she got a number. She pressed a small walkie talkie, “Jim's at 43.”

“Almost there,” was Tessa’s calm reply. 

How she remained cool as a cucumber during these frightful occurrences, Dean would never know. Gliding into Neverland, she knelt at his side, asking questions while further assessing. 

“Jim?” Tessa said loudly, “Jim? I’m giving you Glucagon, okay?” She prepared a syringe, then injected it under his right shirt sleeve.

Jim’s rigidness slowly let up, Dean hadn't realized the tight grip he’d had on his shoulders and loosened his hands. 

“I don't get it, why didn't he tell me he was low?” 

“It hits fast. Diabetics suddenly feel disoriented and can't verbalize what's happening until, well this,” she gestured. 

Jim began having tremors. 

“The medicine's not working?”

“It is. His body went quickly to one extreme, it’s a common side effect when medicine is turning him around, quickly forcing his blood sugar up.”

Five minutes passed since giving him the injection, Alex returned with more strips and a ‘barf bowl’. Tessa tested his blood sugar again. “Sixty two. He’ll be coming back around soon.” 

Another five minutes and his blood sugar bumped to seventy nine. The tremors hadn't subsided, but Jim’s eyes opened occasionally. He wasn't totally awake, but coming out of it. 

“How are you feeling?” Tessa sweetly asked.

He quietly stared forward as if trying to identify something. Then a large ripple in his muscles rolled from his abdomen to his stomach, and then his chest. Tessa grabbed the barf bowl just in time. 

“Masks, both of you,” she instructed Dean and Zeke, “it's time for lights out anyhow.”

“I don't want to leave him.”

“I’ve got this, it's a common side effect. Go back and get settled. If you want, you can pull out something fresh for him to sleep in.” 

They started out of the room but heard Tessa call, “Thank you boys, you’re good friends to him.” 

Looking through Jim’s dresser, Dean saw his hands were shaking. Scratch that. All of him was shaking. It startled him. He pulled out a charcoal gray t-shirt and blue PJ pants. Before he could stop himself he held the shirt up to his nose. It smelled like the worn leather of a baseball glove, with a faint aroma of the natural soap bar Jim kept in the shower. It surprised Dean how it calmed his chaotic emotional state. 

Jim was returned to their room soon after. Tessa lovingly cleaned him up and changed him for bed. Turning to Dean, clutching the ‘barf bowl’, he whispered, “thank you.” Offering a feeble smile, Jim closed his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to hit y'all with a dose of reality. But friends can and do help friends through such times.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean didn't know what time it was, but he knew what had awakened him. Something was wrong. Hearing muffled cries in the darkness, he placed his hand on Jim's shoulder to comfort him. The material was soaked with perspiration, and the skin underneath was burning with fever. 

“Jim, can you hear me?” 

“Mmm..hmmmm..” 

“What do I do? Please tell me what to do.” 

He felt a clammy hand squeeze his wrist as Jim vomited. Dean cringed in reaction to the unusually low sound. No kid should sound like that, _ ever_. If the lights were turned on, it wouldn't have surprised him to see a bear, pulling Jim's stomach out through his mouth. 

“Guh.gguh...ghet T-tessa!” He sharply drew his legs up to his chest, as if someone had kicked him in the gut. Screaming like a butcher knife plunged into his lower back, he thrashed while the guttural vomiting mercilessly continued. 

Terrified, Dean slammed the call button. Seconds later, lights were on, caring hands were urging him back to his own bed while Tessa assessed the situation. But he wouldn't budge. Jim had a death grip on his wrist, and Dean couldn't care less if he snapped it in half. He’d never seen anyone in so much pain. 

She gave instruction to notify the on-call and phone Hannah. Ice packs were placed against Jim's neck, back, and arms, some of which had velcro straps wrapped around his wrists. Dean moved towards the head of the bed, allowing the nurses to continue working. 

Dr. Roché arrived looking exhausted, yet listened intently to Tessa's report. The morphine began taking effect but Jim still cried, holding on to Dean with no less strength. 

“Let's get an abdominal ultrasound. Results depending, I may want a biopsy this morning. Go ahead and give two more milligrams of morphine, just once, as needed. I’d rather not repeat a dose until speaking with Endocrinology.” 

Bracing himself for a scolding at not retreating to his side of the room, Dean was instead given words of kindness. 

“I'm relieved to see such friendship and support for him. How are _ you _ feeling?”

“Worried. For _ him_. I'm okay.”

“We'll need to take him shortly, and you need your hand back.”

“So is this all from the Gluca..whatever?”

“Overlap of side effects and other ongoing problems.”

“His pancreas?” 

Dr. Roché pleasantly offered, “Hopefully we’ll have answers in a few hours, then his brother can fill you in.”

Dean exhaled, bending down at eye level with Jim, who still held on. “They’re taking you downstairs. Wish I could go with you, wish you didn't have to hurt like this.” 

Jim released his wrist, which already had bruises appearing. Before losing courage, Dean retrieved Jim's hand and held the back of it against his cheek, until seconds later his friend slipped under the blissful relief of morphine. 

~*~*~*~

Dean tiptoed around the fuzzy edges of unconsciousness. Later, he found Hannah sitting beside his brother's blanketed form in silent vigilance.

“How is he?” Dean whispered.

Hannah's face was full of weariness. “Sedated. They'll keep him under for a few days to rest his stomach and stabilize his blood sugar.”

_ Days_. Dean's heart sunk. “Any results yet? Hope he doesn't have to wait much longer for a transplant. It’ll fix most, if not all of this, right?”

Hannah’s eyes popped open in confusion. “Transplant?” 

“He’s on a list if he's in failure, right?” 

Regarding Dean with serious contemplation, he heavily sighed. “He didn't tell you, did he?” 

“Tell me what?” 

“Jim doesn't qualify for a transplant.” 

Dean felt his mind snap in a proverbial whiplash. “W-what?”

“He’s not eligible.”

“I..I don-..he-” Dean stammered.

“What do you know of his conditions?”

He recalled what Jim divulged of his illnesses. “Bad kidneys, diabetes..and nonspecific pancreatic failure, right?”

“That's right.”

“Are people only allowed one transplant? Like a new kidney, but not a pancreas?”

“Not how it works, but even a new kidney wouldn't solve the problem. That's not the primary condition.”

“His main problem?”

“The pancreas helps control blood sugar levels. The liver can only produce so much insulin to break down sugar before it fails to keep up. If levels are out of control for an extended period of time, patients will develop diabetes. Diabetes can attack the kidney’s filters which clean your blood. Eventually, there isn't enough left to remove the toxins, and dialysis is required.”

“He could just stay on dialysis for a long time, right?” Dean proposed.

“Depending on what causes the failure, some live for decades on dialysis. But his kidneys aren't the primary condition, it’s his pancreas. It isn't even properly treated because they can't identify the problem to begin with. Sadly, there’s no form of dialysis for a failing pancreas. You either get a new one or, that's it.” 

“But Jim’s so sick, I don't understand. Why doesn't he qualify?” 

“The body quickly recognizes a new organ as ‘foreign’. The immune system immediately begins rejecting and attacking it, like a virus. The only successful class of drugs to suppress this autoimmune response to the organ, so it functions properly, are steroids. After the transplant, patients take these medications for the rest of their lives.”

“Seems like a small price to pay to live longer and feel better,” Dean declared.

“You're right, it is.”

Staring at Hannah expectantly, he waited for the “except that….”

“A small percentage of patients either react badly to the steroids or not at all.”

“No reaction is good, like no barfing or hives?”

“Those are _ side effects. _ No reaction means no effect whatsoever. They don't work at all. It's pointless putting a new kidney, liver, lungs or _ pancreas _ in someone who isn't compatible with anti rejection drugs. There's nothing preventing their body from destroying the transplant, it'll be consumed within weeks of surgery.” 

Hannah metaphorically took his hand, guiding him along. “Dean, Jim is steroid resistant.”

Resistant. To the steroid. “_The only successful class of drugs, anti rejection drugs, are steroids.” _ Not compatible. “I- b-but, I don-...what does this mean?” 

“The drug is ineffective, he's not on any list because no hospital or doctor will give him a pancreas. It means when his stops working, he'll die,” Hannah painfully delivered.

Dean refused to accept Hannah’s words. It didn't make sense; doctors didn't go through med school to allow some patients to die for a hiccup like this, especially not kids! 

“No. No no, they can't let that happen! There's gotta be something else. You said the only class of drugs used for anti rejection. Aren't you studying pharmacology? Wh-what about drugs for other things?” 

“Currently something’s in the development stage they hope someday will help.”

“Someday? He may not have til 'someday’, he needs it _ now_! Aren't there experimental things?”

“Dean, it takes _ years _ for a medication to reach the clinical stage. Sometimes decades. Then they assess if the results yielded are worth the side effects. Many medications get to the clinical stages and fail. The average time frame for a proposed compound to go from research to prescription is fifteen years.”

“That's too long! How can they just let him die? Don’t they see or care how much he’s hurting?!” 

“See and care, absolutely. But there’s _ nothing _ they or anyone else can do except make him comfortable, and save the ones they can. For every child like Jim, there are hundreds of others waiting, but steroid compatible.”

“This is so unfair to let him die!” Dean choked out in panic. 

“How fair is it to another child if doctors put a pancreas in Jim, knowing within weeks it’s definitely going to fail, and that other child dies because the transplant went to him and it took too long for another pancreas match to become available? There’ll be two children dead, two families devastated, when one could’ve been saved! I’d give _ anything _ to save my brother, he’s all I have left.”

Dean was frozen in disbelief, staring at Hannah as he continued explaining.

“His doctors took an oath to save lives, most of the time they're successful. They have the theoretical knowledge to save Jim, yet currently, there exist no tools or weapons to fight his disease and ensuing complications. It's like trying to grab smoke with your bare hands.” 

It sounded to Dean like Hannah was on good terms with someone who had this experience. 

“This is why I've been studying pharmacology. I won't be doling out antibiotics for the common ear infection down at your local Walgreen's. I'll work in clinical research, helping develop a weapon for doctors to fight and win these battles.”

“In the meantime, Jim and other kids have to die over a tiny pill, or a non-existent one.” 

“I'm going to watch my brother die. Then I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to finding a solution so families like us no longer suffer such loss. You can't imagine my struggle with accepting this.”

Heavy sadness weighed on Dean, he pushed against it, but got nowhere. “I really can't.”

“All I can do now is give Jim my time. He deserves so much more than the hand he’s been dealt.” 

Dean felt numb. He couldn't do anything as this grand and terrifying reality gripped him from all sides like nightmarish titans from the deep. 

“This is difficult to share with you Dean. You're a child who deserves health and security. But it's already been stolen from you. I see a change in him over the last few months. The reality of what will happen never leaves him, but with you, he escapes it for a while. He’s happier. You’re the best friend he’s ever had, and you deserve to know the truth.”

“He’s mine too.” Dean couldn't recall saying anything more truthful in his entire life, such that it was. 

Hannah gently assured. “His doctors can't discuss much because of confidentiality. If you ever need to talk about this, you can ask me anything, okay?” 

Dean nodded. This was a bad dream. Jim won't die. They'll find something soon. He laid back down, staring at the wall for a very long time. There were moments he hovered in a lucid state, watching purple flashes and heard buzzing, before slipping into darkness.

The next few days were quiet, the space became increasingly small, forcing him to another part of the unit. Dean found himself seeking solitude in the mezzanine, which felt like “their space.” 

Sitting on a bed with his back to the window, his brain tried processing, but his heart repeatedly shut down the attempt. An aggressive yawn assaulted him, he decided it wouldn't hurt to rest a little.

~*~*~*~

Awareness sluggishly took over, beating back the peaceful, blank nothingness of sleep. Something warm moved in a pattern on the back of his hand. Whatever was drawing the pattern halted, then slid underneath his palm, lacing between his fingers to pleasantly welcome him back to consciousness. 

Big blue eyes examined him with worry and a touch of sorrow. He drew Jim into a tight hug. It was an awkward angle, but he wasn't letting go of Jim’s hand, which gripped his own more like a boyfriend than best friend. Dean burrowed his face into the cozy spot where neck meets shoulder, holding him close. 

Jim had just been through hell, yet his first inclination upon waking was to check on _ his _ well being. Dean wanted to burst into tears. His breath was already deep and uneven, he was visibly upset, but held it together when feeling the soft sweep of another hand against his hair and neck. Jim was letting Dean feel what he needed to, without pressure to brave words about a subject he wasn't yet ready to speak on. The physical soothing reached into his soul. Rubbing the back of Jim's hand with his thumb, still in his own, he hoped it would convey how appreciated the comfort was.

Jim whispered Jess had been looking for him. A silent understanding hung in the air, they'd like to avoid her stumbling upon their “Blind Man’s Bluff.” 

In need of more rest, each took a handle on Dean’s wheelchair Jim had used getting there, and headed back to a very relieved Hannah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Into each life, some rain must fall. This was a monsoon though, huh? Let's leave these troubles for a while and have some fun...


	5. Chapter 5

On the morning of the Fourth of July, the children wandered in to Neverland, discovering a carnival. They enjoyed a wheelchair accessible obstacle course, and a circuit-like system of games along two of the walls. 

The Neverland East staff had cleared the meeting room next to the nurses' station, which now boasted a slot car racetrack, lightweight laser vests, and guns. PlayStations and bean bag chairs welcomed the teens in one of the far corners, with a few new games. 

“Nothing like the smell of charcoal and lighter fluid in the mornin’! Hot dogs, hamburgers, french fries, baseball, and piiiiieeee!” Dean chortled. 

“Not like it's your favorite holiday or anything,” Jim smirked.

Dean’s mood was stellar. Might’ve been the way Jim’s blue shirt brought out the even bluer than blue of his eyes. Or how ‘hella’ cute he looked in the new Giants hat Hannah bought him, which prompted Dean to throw on his White Sox hat. 

Baseball season was in full swing, so he and Jim weren’t the only ones donning their teams’ hats. Charlie was a Detroit Tigers fan, sporting a black tiara around her very worn ball cap, making a fierce statement that she could be _ both _ princess and athlete. Zeke and Garth wore Cleveland Indians hats, Benny supported the Atlanta Braves, and there were some Pittsburgh Pirates fans too. 

Among those who partook in the Laser Tag set up, the baseball fans were the most gung-ho. Dean, however, lost his privileges for faking a heart attack whenever he got hit. He was taking a break in their room when Hannah strolled in. 

“Hi, Dean! Happy Fourth! Where's Jim?” 

“Finishing laser tag.”

“Good, while he's busy then- got what you asked for last week,” Hannah whispered, retrieving something from his bag. 

Dean laughed, rubbing his hands together in mischief. “Yesss, thank youuu.”

“Destroy the evidence. And this feels super awkward by the way.”

He snatched the item and hid it. “I’d be concerned if it didn't, but were you ever gonna do it?”

“Hell no,” Hannah shot back with a look that screamed _ are you crazy? _

Jim strolled in, hat on backward, eating shaved ice. The blue flavoring dyed his lips just a tad, so of course, Dean’s heart monitor announced he was wondering what they tasted like. 

Jim looked over at him, “You alright?”

“Yup, yup. Fine. Mmhmm,” he promised, trying to silence the goddamned thing. 

“Got sugar free icy stuff out there, wanna get some?”

“Heck yes, little brother!” Hannah hugged him. 

Over snow cones, Hannah revealed he'd depart before fireworks. He’d been hired at the Pfizer lab in Lawrence and he wanted a good night's sleep for his first day. Jim threw himself onto his brother in a massive hug. Dean understood what this meant to them both.

As evening fell, Neverland reorganized so families could set up to watch the fireworks from the large row of windows near the pirate ship. Several hundred glow in the dark stars shone, particularly around the clock tower mural, adding to the feeling of anticipation and precious wonderment. Upbeat music made the vibe increasingly jovial.

Grabbing the secret item, Dean followed the soundwaves of REO Speedwagon down to their “Blind Man's Bluff” for the festivities, which faced the same direction as Neverland. 

“_Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longer _   
_ And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow _   
_ What started out this friendship has grown stronger _ _   
I only wish I had the strength to let it show”_

Perched on a bed in the mezzanine, Jim turned to chit chat, when Dean pulled out a brand spanking new issue of Penthouse Magazine. 

“Now for a teachable moment, brought to you by...never-you-mind _who_..anyways, _BEHOLD,” _he said with an expression full of _I aim to misbehave._

_ “_What the hell is this?!” 

“The glory of naked women is what the hell this is,” Dean grinned in hormonally driven enthusiasm.

When a very scandalously posed beauty graced two full pages he turned the magazine sideways, noticing Jim didn't look sold.

“Oh my God calm down, you look like I’ve dragged you to a den of iniquity or something!” Dean chuckled.

“What the fuck is that?!” Jim shrieked, backing away as if something might jump off the page and bite him. “Okay, I’ve seen naked people in science books and art, they're beautiful. But how anyone finds that ‘hot’ is just, I don't know Dean,” he shook his head, ”I think I’m into guys.”

_ “I tell myself that I can't hold out forever _   
_ I said there is no reason for my fear _   
_ 'Cause I feel so secure when we're together _   
_ You give my life direction _ _   
You make everything so clear”_

Dean shrugged, “Nothin’ wrong with that,” but his tattletale of a heart monitor ratted out his bullshit zen response. Ripping the thing off and throwing it against the wall, he heard a nearly muted laugh. Sometimes Dean wondered if Jim said shit like that on purpose.

“That's what you like?” 

“You're about half right. Pretty sure I’m an equal opportunist,” Dean replied with his trademark 'I’m adorable’ expression. 

To that, Jim raised an eyebrow and jumped from the bed to pace in front of Dean. “And is there currently a window of ‘opportunity’?” he asked, using air quotes.

Dean immediately leaned forward in extreme interest. “Why? You currently ‘on the market’?”

“No time like the present,” Jim answered with far less sarcasm than before. 

“_And even as I wander _   
_ I'm keeping you in sight _   
_ You're a candle in the window _   
_ On a cold, dark winter's night _ _   
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might”_

“Y-you serious? You wanna be my boyfriend?” Dean nervously asked, carefully scooting off the hospital bed right into his friend’s personal space.

Jim nodded, his smile was so wide his nose made an adorable crinkle. Dean thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. His heart felt like it was skipping in his chest. Jim stepped closer, slid his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling him into the coziest hug that felt like _ home_. 

“_And I can't fight this feeling anymore _   
_ I've forgotten what I started fighting for _   
_ It's time to bring this ship into the shore _ _   
And throw away the oars, forever”_

“Awesome,” Dean quietly huffed, unaware of how long he’d been holding his breath. 

Jim was slightly shorter, but his shoulders were broader. He loved the way his friend fit in his arms, and sighed at how perfect it felt. 

A hand made its way over Dean’s heart, he heard Jim urging him to put his monitor back on. Grabbing the cursed thing off the floor, he tightened the strap across his chest. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. I'm good.” His face was bright red as he straightened his hat and oxygen cannula. 

“Then let's play some ball,” Jim insisted with bright eyes, throwing Dean’s glove to him. 

The two comfortably fell into the comforting familiarity of baseball and trash talk, until hearing a boom. Setting aside the ball and gloves, they waited in juvenile anticipation for the first colorful light in the sky. Dean flipped his ball cap backwards, leaned against the railing behind him, and tugged Jim so his back rested comfortably against his chest. Wrapping his arms around Jim’s waist, he contentedly rested his chin on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather and honey. 

Spending the Fourth in the hospital sucked. But Dean started the day grinning, and ended it holding his boyfriend, watching fireworks. Finding each other in St. Luke's was the last thing they'd ever expected, yet everything they could've wanted.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally no more beating around the bush! Not the best Fourth of July, but it coulda been so much worse. In fact...buckle up, the ride's not over yet.
> 
> "Can't Fight this Feeling Anymore" by REO Speedwagon


	6. Chapter 6

One day. They couldn't even have one day to enjoy the new relationship status before Dean woke up with an extremely sore throat and fever. A new concoction from Meg's cart of curiosities felt like fresh hell, packing a serious wallop. 

Next day was more of the same, plus a Cool Runnings rewatch and masked visits from Garth and Zeke. Garth informed them Charlie and Benny were home for now, but would soon return for ongoing treatments. 

Day three after getting sick Dean was feeling better. He milled around the room playing Uno on Jim's bed for most of the day. 

“There’s something I want to show you, but I don't want you to freak out,” Jim trod cautiously.

“Can't decide if that's the best sales pitch or the worst,” Dean coughed, “but there's no turning back, yer gonna have to show me.”

“Guess we'll see.” 

Dean noticed him nervously going for the drawer at the bottom of his nightstand. 

He'd retrieved a large shoebox and set it on his lap. “Just so you know, they're dead.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “We're gonna have to work on those marketing skills.” 

Jim scooted closer to Dean so their legs were touching. He slid the box over his thighs so half of it rested on his leg and the other half on Dean's. Carefully lifting the lid, he revealed the contents, waiting for Dean to react. 

“Whoa,” Dean whispered.

Dean had observed how animated he became when talking about insects. Maybe he’d been teased before, but he’d never make fun of him, especially not for this. 

“What's this one with the big pincers?” he barely got out with a cough.

“Stag beetle, from Japan. Lots of people have them as pets.”

“I’d rather have a guinea pig,” Dean confessed. 

Jim picked up the crown jewel in his collection; taking up half the shoebox, it made Dean a tad nervous. 

“This is the Goliath, the largest species of beetle. They're found in African rainforests, in other countries there's a huge market for them to be used in cat and dog food. It's not right, it bothers me.”

Dean couldn't say he had an opinion on the matter, seeing as how the beetle was so fucking big it could probably take most of his hand off in one bite. But he respected the issue seemed important to Jim. 

“Which one's your favorite bug? Is it one in here?”

Jim shook his head, “I think bees are cool. They're smart and good for the environment. My most favorite is Funeralia Transiens. A Locust.”

“Like in the bible?” 

“Yup, one of the plagues.”

“Doesn’t something happen? Like, they're just ordinary grasshoppers but they totally Hulk out?” 

“An amazing shift beyond their control, causes them to rapidly undergo a transformation resulting in them becoming the biggest and best version of themselves.”

“That’s crazy, I’d no idea grasshoppers were so damn cool.” 

After Jim carefully put the box away, Dean took his hand. “Hey, thanks for showing me. I like it when you nerd out about bugs, you know all these cool facts.”

Jim glowed and turned pink. “I'm more nerd than you know.”

“What, you have glasses and a pocket protector stashed somewhere?”

“Glasses.”

Dean’s eyes widened, ”No shit?” he coughed, ”Take ‘em out, I’ve gotta see them on you!” 

Jim sighed in reticence, but reached into the top drawer of his nightstand. Sliding on the black wire rimmed frames, he rolled his eyes when lifting his head.

Aww shucks. The glasses fit Jim’s face perfectly, and brought the gorgeous blue of his eyes into deeper focus. 

Dean's face was flushed, he smiled shyly, and quietly complimented his boyfriend. “Jeez Jimmy, you're the cutest nerd. Why don't you ever wear'em?” 

Jim was flustered by Dean’s words. “Was afraid my devastatingly handsome new roommate wouldn't be in to nerds.”

Double shucks. It was Dean’s turn to be bashful and he damn near swooned like a southern belle. 

“Newsflash, I’m definitely into nerds. Although when was your last vision test? Did you seriously just call me devastatingly handsome?”

“Somebody had to,” Jim answered, humorously lifting the hint of sixteen year old awkwardness hanging in the air.

Dean was painfully aware it was an outstanding opportunity to kiss his boyfriend for the first time. If he wasn’t a congestive mess and a ball of nerves, he might’ve gone for it. Coughing again, he settled for squeezing Jim’s hand. 

“Dean, your hand is really hot. Are you feeling alright?”

Come to think of it, he actually wasn't. There was a fuzziness in his brain. He stood to say, “I should go lay down,” but hit the floor before any words came forth. 

His body was moving, but not in the way he told it to. Chest pain ripped through, shutting out vision and hearing. He felt as if one of those weird gyrospheres at the Kansas State Fair was whipping him around. 

Fresh hell was delivered by an uneven series of punches. No..blasts, every few moments against his chest, followed by excruciating burns yanking him upwards as if his heart was attached to an electric tether. 

If Death had come, that bony douchebag was in for the brawl of his existence. Dean Winchester refused to go anywhere until he kissed his boyfriend, and that included the pearly gates or even Hell itself.

Each blast was a head-on hit by a Mack truck. At one point, he might have even called for a ferryman’s services because he just couldn't take it anymore. 

Something began choking him, cutting against his throat, it pushed, expanding in him over and over. Dean wondered if this was what Han Solo felt when he was frozen in carbonite. If he was dead, he wanted a goddamn refund. The afterlife wasn't supposed to feel like he was a demolition test dummy. 

Dean existed in a vacuum. This chaotic blackness was disorienting, he couldn't tell if he was up or down. Whatever this tumultuous darkness was, the longer it tried to invade, the less his exhausted mind was capable of resisting. Eventually, he let it hook him into a deep, dark sleep.

~*~*~*~

“Dean! Wake up! No no, roll over on your side, c'mon!!!” 

Jimmy watched in horror as Dean's body stiffened and tilted in ghastly positions. Tearing through his bed sheets for his call button, he pleaded for help.

“Yes Jim?” came Tessa's calm voice.

“Dean's having a seizure. Get here quick!” 

“On my way now!” 

Jimmy gasped over Dean, holding his face. He sensed there was something far worse happening than he was witnessing. His stomach sunk when Dean's face turned a sickening dark gray. He shook terribly while crying over this boy who'd stolen his heart, and given his own in return. 

When Tessa came, Jimmy retreated so Dean could get needed help. He listened frightfully to the evenly patterned voices of “Clear!” followed by morbid thuds of Dean's upper body falling back on the bed. 

Hours seemed to pass before Jimmy sensed Dean was stabilized. New anxiety rippled through when John and Ellen arrived, drowning in worry and heartache. His blood ran cold hearing Dr. Kali explain how the seizure triggered a damaging path like dominoes through his body. 

On rare nights when neither John nor Ellen could be there, he'd sit in the silence of their room next to him. Laying his head on Dean's shoulder or pressing his wet cheek against his, Jim pleaded for him to come back.

Jimmy hated how little control he had over his own health, but at least he'd made peace with his fate. A world without Dean Winchester was the most unacceptable thought. One rare night, in true desperation Jimmy vowed to anyone or _ anything _ listening, he'd move heaven and earth to ensure a heart was found.

~*~*~*~

The first solid thing he saw was his dad's face; John was bone weary with dark circles under his eyes, but wore a cautious smile. 

“Can you hear me Dean?” 

Hopefully his head was nodding like he was telling it to, but just in case it wasn't, he shut his eyes tightly and opened them again. 

The corner of his dad's eyes wrinkled when giving Dean an even bigger smile. “That's good. Damn good.”

John took his left hand, suggesting one squeeze for yes and nothing for no. 

“You remember anything?”

He’d been talking to Jim one minute, then shit went south pretty quick. He squeezed for yes.

“You had a fever, it jumped pretty fast. Chest x-ray showed a bad case of pneumonia. When your fever shot up it caused seizures. With the fluid in your lungs and the impact of your fall, there was a chain reaction from the damage around your heart.” 

John looked pained. “You had a heart attack. It was risky, shocking it back into rhythm..if they hadn't though..” he stopped to compose himself, “There’s..ahm..there’s been more damage. Doc’ll go over that later. Got a ventilator in, but they'll take you off soon.”

An actual heart attack? _ More _ damage? He hadn't forgotten the “or die waiting” part of the equation. 

Squeezing John’s hand, he looked towards Jim. How was he? Surely worried, but his health? Any changes?

“Jim? He's alright. Hasn't left the room for ages. Hannah's been a Godsend, now that he's working in Lawrence he’s spent every weekend at our house watching Jo and Sam. Jo, good God her pitching arm is unbelievable since Hannah's been working with her. He’s got Sammy hooked on a new book series.”

He looked over at Jim again, then at John. His father regarded him with speculation, “I promise you Jim’s okay. Took Hannah everything he had convincing him he needed a break. He looked like a kicked puppy being dragged out of the room.”

The climate in their home had never been one of judgment towards others, unless their actions put someone in danger. But he couldn't recall if this kind of relationship was discussed. He decided against sharing, but if they ever asked, he’d be truthful and hope they accepted it. 

“Sam and Jo can't wait to see you. Jim's kept them busy with some bug collection neither one of them can shut up about.”

Jim and Hannah had grown to mean so much. If he didn't get a heart in time, he wished they might still take their place among his family just as if he were still here.

“Hey son, it's alright to be scared,” John assuaged in response to a few tears escaping down Dean’s face. “This is a lot to handle, you’ve got every right to feel whatever it is you’re feeling.”

Time was continually stolen from him. The amount of which he was uncertain he had, or Jim ha- _ No_. He couldn't go there, they’d find something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh poor Dean. Did any of you see it coming?


	7. Chapter 7

Dean's dexterity improved enough to spell in Jim’s hand. Communication was neither lengthy nor grandiose, but better than nothing. 

He opted against employing this form with anyone else. The intent was a message in itself, one he hoped made Jim feel special, knowing his words were saved for him, and him alone. 

What usually occurred was a nightly competition of _ Most Shocking Confessions. _A game in which each shared something gross, hilarious, embarrassing, and above all else truthful, that they’d done or happened to them, in an attempt to out-shock the other.

A rating system was applied: 

1-lame and doesn't register 

2-that’s weak, try harder 

3-how long was your ass grounded 

4-scarred for life/going to hell 

5- yer my fucking hero 

Agreeing to two confessions a night, it was easier to keep score and perpetuated a state of fresh anticipation for nightly alone time. 

_ Prank war with Sam. Put itching powder in underoos. Then Ellen put some in mine before school, jeans too. Wouldn't bring new clothes til day's end. _

Jim laughed, rating that a three. Then shared when he was nine he'd helped Hannah set up an experiment for chemistry, which involved a high pressure air nozzle and a huge pot of water, among other things. Once prepared, their mother walked in finding Jimmy “boiling” his hand. She’d screamed and thrown the laundry at them, basket and all, for such a scare. 

Memory fragments from Ellen screaming and crying over him in the kitchen were fresh enough, Dean never wanted to induce that state of distress again, from a joke or otherwise. 

_ Moms don't deserve that. Four- going to hell._

“Fair enough. We felt bad afterward.” Then offering his second confession, “Once, I was so tired I grabbed the wrong tube of toothpaste. Benadryl itch cream tastes like shit.”

Dean grinned, his breathing tube didn't really hurt but he learned real fast laughing was a whole other matter. 

_ Gross dude. I’ll give you a two. _

_ Me, Sam carved initials in back of Baby with knife when little. _

Jim’s face went blank. “Holy shit! How many weeks before you could sit down without crying?”

Dean grimaced, unable to explain the disappointment his dad felt in him outweighed any pain from an ass whoopin’.

“Normally that’d be a three, but knowing how much Baby means to you and your dad I’m giving you a four-you’re definitely going to hell for that,” Jim conceded.

_ No regrets. Good company if you're there. _

Jim's ears turned a nice shade of pink. Already holding hands, he nervously drew a few patterns or spelled something. Dean was busy looking at him in his glasses, sporting his end of the day tired hair.

When Jim looked up, Dean’s beautiful green eyes held so much emotion. He leaned forward, placing the hand he’d been holding against his warm cheek. 

“I really, really missed you,” he whispered, then softly brushed his lips against the center of Dean’s palm. 

He wanted to cry with frustration, not being able to pull Jim into his arms, to finally kiss him! So Dean rubbed Jim’s cheek with his thumb, hoping he read, “Me too. So so much,” in his eyes. 

The regular monitor he was hooked up to unapologetically tattled on him. 

“I’ve missed doing that. Goodnight Dean,” he issued with affection, leaving an extremely twitterpated boyfriend to his thoughts before turning out the light.

~*~*~*~

Four days later, the breathing tube finally came out. He worked hard exercising his vocal cords late at night with Jim. 

“Dad said Hannah helped on the weekends, what's the date?”

Jim was sitting lazily on the bed, his arm wrapped around Dean's bent leg, chin resting on his knee. He’d been holding his hand, doodling patterns on the back. “August ninth. Almost five weeks.” 

Neither of them knew how much time they had. More than a month had been stolen. He wanted to rage, to destroy the room in unchecked anger. Yet he knew that choice could easily be his last. Dean tried focusing on something better. 

“Thanks for staying with me. I could feel you sometimes, even when I couldn't see or hear. My dad said you refused to leave.”

Jim grinned, “Yeah, I made’em haul that big ass dialysis machine in here.”

“Whaaat? Is that the ticking I kept hearing?”

“Probably. I was too afraid, if something happened, if you were gone.. one of the perks of emancipation by the state of Kansas! I filed on my fourteenth birthday and can make my own decisions about medical care and treatments...and other stuff.”

Dean raised an eyebrow in question.

“I told them either roll that machine in here or they’d be dragging me to clinic kicking and screaming. I’m a fucking angel patient who never misbehaves, so when I put my foot down, _ let me tell you. _That got their attention.”

Dean stared at him in awe. “Not that we’re playing right now, but that's a solid five.”

“It’s not gross, embarrassing, or even shocking.”

“Yer still my fucking hero dude,” Dean firmly declared. 

~*~*~*~

The next day Dean met a new doctor joining his team. Dr. Gavin MacLeod emitted a vibe of quiet positivity, worked with arrhythmias, and would be implanting Dean with a loop recorder to better examine various “wonky” rhythms. 

While under sedation, Dean’s heart had gone into V-fib several times; it was a dangerous rhythm, and Dr. MacLeod’s goal was to find effective prevention. He'd also be gifted with a mini defibrillator that could more safely bring a sinus rhythm back using less voltage, should his heart stop again. Both could be done at the same time to avoid subjecting his heart to undue stress.

He agreed it was a good plan, but it set back recovery time, which had already obscenely infringed upon what little summer was left. 

“That’s it. I'm getting you outta here,” Jim insisted, “you've been rudely neglecting some friends. But if I don't take you out once in a while then I’m in dereliction of duty, because I’m the asshole boyfriend hogging all your time. And that ain't happening.”

“The hell’s gotten into you?”

“Shut up,” Jim quickly shot at him, “I’m hilarious.”

“Yer stealing my best lines, is what you're doin’.”

“You like it.”

“Damn right I do.” Then a thought occurred, “Hey, did you tell them?”

Jim nonchalantly responded, “Me clinging to your bedside like some star crossed Romeo mighta clued them in. We don't have to be gross around everyone. Let's just be _ us_. If they ask, we’ll answer.”

Dean loved that answer. “Again, we’re not even in play mode, yet I’m compelled to rate that a five.”

As Jim wheeled him to Neverland, Dean turned back to breathlessly ask in mild panic, “You're still gonna be gross though when it's just you and me, right?”

That elicited a giant, thousand watt smile from Jim who leaned down to whisper, “Yes, and I blame you entirely.”

~*~*~*~

Jim snuck out one afternoon to Neverland West where craft day was in session. Nurse Rowena warmly welcomed him to the art area, letting him create the modest project he had in mind. She'd always received him with such intense reverence, in comparison to the other children with whom she joyfully played and cared for. It was odd, but also very comforting. 

Upon returning to their room, his hands were quick with the wheelchair, offering to wheel Dean to their spot for catch. He readily accepted. Getting a gander at the shiny silver Chevrolet symbol hanging from the back of his black chair, he held him close. Jim sensed Dean pouring everything he felt into the exuberant hug, then pulling back he turned his head to the left, but the timing was off. 

Instead of lips landing on lips, they landed on his cheek. Jim's heart was all a flutter, he knew the intent and wasn't disappointed in the slightest. Dean Winchester was no quitter, and Jim's patience with him was never ending. The heart monitor sounded off, as if publically verifying the Winchester's silent vow to redouble his future efforts.

“Mmm, that’s never gonna get old. Sit. Now.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean chuckled embarrassingly as Jim wheeled him to Blind Man's Bluff.

~*~*~*~

Between treatment/therapies and school, finding time for anything fun was nigh impossible. On one hand, it felt good to be in a steady rhythm, time flew. On the other hand, there were far fewer moments alone with Jim, because time flew.

Dean hoped to make some good memories during the coming weekend. September 18th was Jim’s seventeenth birthday and unbeknownst to him, quite the party was planned. Dean was in the gifting mood before anyone arrived. 

“What do you want to do this morning?” Jim asked, straightening his ball cap. 

“I want you to open these.” Dean held out two carefully wrapped presents. 

“H-how did you even know it was my birthday?”

“I'm nosey.”

Jim immediately grew shy, but took the gifts. Dean’s heart monitor squeaked and Jim assured, “M’gonna love whatever this is, chill out-Oh, sweet! I’ve always wanted to see Journey in concert!”

Dean felt all mushy inside, but there was still the other present to be opened. He observed Jim’s face carefully as the paper was pulled away from the box holding a Diecast model of a shiny, black ‘67 four door Impala. 

Jim’s expression was blank at first. Dean froze in horror, thinking he’d royally screwed up by giving his boyfriend a “toy car” for his birthday.

“Baby,” Jim whispered in awe. His fingers delicately touched the clear plastic window, revealing a replica of something Dean held very dear. “This is just, so _ awesome_!! Thank you!” Jim wrapped his arms around him tightly.

Dean exhaled in great relief, enjoying the luxury of holding him close, burying his face in that favorite spot on his neck. “You’re welcome. Hopefully, when we're all better you can see Baby for real. And maybe we can also, uhm, hang out in my room and l can show you my vinyl collection.” 

They stood there holding each other a few seconds longer, treasuring another pure moment. 

“I'd love listening to Zeppelin with you.” Then he very deliberately gave Dean a kiss on the cheek. 

This was it. Dean was sure this was the moment he’d finally get to kiss Jim. They locked eyes, he slowly leaned in, began tilting his head, and a loud knock at their door had them jumping away from each other. Jim quietly laughed, while Dean stood there trying to figure out what he’d done in a past life to piss cupid off so badly.

Jess blindfolded Jim, and fifteen minutes later Dean, Zeke, and Benny patiently waited outside for him to guess what was going on. Then something still a little ways off sounded familiar to Jim. Before she even pulled up in front of him, he was screaming, ”I know that rumbling!! Is that Baby?! Is it? Tell me that's Baby!” 

Dean reeled in elation Jim recognized her by sound before even meeting her. 

Jim couldn't wait another second. He ripped the blindfold off just as John pulled her up to the curb with the windows rolled down and the whole family inside hollered, “Happy Birthday Jim!”

Ellen, Sam, and Jo hopped out so that Jim, Dean, Benny, and Zeke could get in. Garth claimed car sickness and opted to chill curbside, John very much appreciated that. 

Jim was given the coveted shotgun. When buckling the seat belt, he closed his eyes. “She feels even better than I imagined,” he reveled in the vibrations gently slithering up his spine when John revved her up.

They were driven around the block a few times, then parked so Jim could check her out under the hood. Both Dean and his father were impressed by how much Jim had learned about the car. 

Following Jess inside a while later to a large meeting room, they found Matt Pike, an Entomologist whom on rare occasions made educational presentations about the wonderful world of bugs. He’d brought several of his multisegmented, cold blooded associates along, much to Jim’s delight. 

“Dean, come look at this tarantula!” Jim pleaded.

“That's a big,” he started looking around for who was listening, and saw Ellen glaring, “EFFING nope.”

“But she's so sweet! She's just a little Rose Hair, did you know they have 'fingernails’? C’mere, please,” he begged. 

He reluctantly walked over. “No way I'm touching it dude,” he firmly declared, ”but I’ll admit the way she moves is kind of pretty.”

After the bugs went bye-bye, Jim grinned at the fondant draped Giants cake Hannah ordered. It was shaped like a black baseball with orange stitching, and had sparklers instead of candles. 

Later, the teens were invited to pull up a bean bag chair and watch Tombstone. The shoot out at the O.K. Corral lived up to expectation, tears were shed when Morgan died, and everyone cheered when Johnny Ringo’s forehead ate a bullet from Holliday's gun. 

Jim glanced at Dean, who was more pale than usual, while watching Holliday beg Wyatt to leave, so his dearest friend wouldn’t watch him be slowly taken by terrible illness. The comparison was not lost on Jim, and he could feel the emotional climate take a definitive nosedive. He took Dean’s hand, placing it in his lap. 

“Where to?” Jim asked at movie's end.

“In the mood for some catch?” 

“Nah, not really. But we can go there and hang out.”

“Cool, cool.”

Jim wheeled him to the mezzanine, both climbed atop the hospital bed they’d unofficially claimed.

“This was the best birthday ever. Thank you.”

“Well hold on now, it ain't over yet. You forgot to make a wish. He fumbled with something unseen in his hands. 

“Guess you're right, can't blow sparklers out.” Jim casually drummed his fingers on his knees.

Once Dean gripped whatever he’d been carefully pawing for, he sat criss cross in front of Jim. “C’mere,” he urged, and Jim turned to face him. “Now, close your eyes for just a second.”

Jim did as he was told, and while he waited he heard the tsk, tsk sound of a lighter. 

“Okay, you can open’em now.” 

He found his boyfriend's face happily shining back at him, above the soft glow of a single flickering candle. Dean was holding it with his right hand, and a cookie just below, in his left. When Jim looked closer, he saw one tiny Oreo. 

“A regular Oreo cookie? Not sugar free?” he excitedly asked Dean.

“Everybody deserves a cookie. Make your wish, preferably before the wax burns my fingers.”

An enormous grin spread across Jim’s face. Leaning forward he said, “I wish for..._ this,” _carefully blowing out the candle. 

It was pitch dark, Dean heard him inching forward until his warm lips pressed lightly against the skin to the right of his nose, above his mouth. The candle slipped out of his burned fingers landing.. he wasn't sure where. What just happened?

“Pfft! That didn't seem right,” Jim sarcastically declared. 

Dean felt a hand on his face searching for something. He swatted it away, laughing in the darkness.

“You’ve been wanting to kiss me forever, at least I went for it and got clo-Oh _ SHIT!_ Bed's on fire!” 

Looking down, Dean saw a few orange flashes, then felt quick movement in front of him. Yanking off his shirt, Jim put out the flames like a pro. 

With the cookie still in his left hand, Dean tried salvaging the moment by keeping half of it in his mouth, tempting Jim into taking a bite. But with kiss attempt number two, their foreheads crunched together painfully, the cookie broke, falling somewhere in their laps. Kiss number two was a fail.

Then Dean sat up, blindly grabbed at Jim's head, and jokingly demanded in a demonic voice, “Hold still and let me kiss you, damn it!” 

Jim’s foot twitched and he accidentally kicked Dean in the nuts. Grabbing his junk, Dean slumped backwards towards the end of the bed, laughing hysterically in between painful groans.

“I’m so sorry!!”

“No..no.. don't come anywhere near me, you menace! You've done enough! Just kidding...Jesus Christ this is funny,” Dean admitted, still laughing uncontrollably. 

He was relieved Jim was having so much trouble getting a kiss. Surely_ nobody _ would ever have a story quite like this. 

He became acutely aware of a comforting form crawling up and over his own. He welcomed the feeling of Jim carefully allowing some of his weight to settle on him, snuggling into Dean's right side. This time when their foreheads touched, it was gentle. Jim’s breath was warm, sweet, and best of all, so very close. The soft pad of his thumb lightly skimmed over Dean's mouth, so he knew exactly where it was. 

The warmth of Jim’s lips brushed against his own. Dean delicately pressed back, enjoying the feathery touches. His fingers slowly wound their way through his hair, holding him close and lengthening the contact of their lips, which melded together in a blissful dance. 

After only a few seconds of kissing Jim, Dean Winchester decided he _ loved _ kissing boys. The clumsiness of all previous attempts washed away as they baptized each other anew in the purity and mutual reverence of adolescent love. They found their rhythm as arms and legs tangled contentedly. And then the heart monitor decided to play chaperone. 

Jim didn't seem fazed in the slightest by the interruption. He sighed in a tranquil tone, lazily declaring in between shortened kisses, “That...Was...So...Much...Better.”

“Hell yes,” Dean whispered breathlessly, loving the feeling of delicious, little kisses, traveling down his neck. 

Jim buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, then lay next to him in the quiet darkness. 

“You okay? Why’d you stop?” Dean asked with concern. 

“Believe me, I _ really _don't want to. But, doctor's orders.” He patted the heart monitor at Dean’s hip.

“Mmm, just means we’ll have to practice getting my threshold up,” Dean murmured, going in for more kisses. 

His fingers trailed down his boyfriend's spine, conveying appreciation his shirt remained off. That elicited a needy shiver from Jim, who tightened the hold around his waist. Dean imagined how nice it would be if his shirt was off too, and within seconds the monitor sabotaged for the second time.

“Sunovabitch!” he cursed under his breath, turning the thing off. 

The implications of what this meant were only beginning to sink in. While he _ really _ looked forward to more 'practice’, it occurred to him his condition might not allow his threshold to be pushed or stretched, no matter how gentle the activity. 

He hadn't taken one of his 'long’ showers in, well, since before the accident. Not only had he worried it could be the death of him, his ongoing paranoia about dying in a ‘compromised’ position had resulted in zero physical self gratification. No way in hell the coroner's report was going to read his official cause as 'death by orgasm', self inflicted or otherwise. 

“Let's try sitting up,” Jim suggested. Quickly, he threw on his shirt, pulled Dean up, legs dangling over the edge. He stood and stretched, then was pulled forward by his belt loops in between Dean’s legs for a cozy hug. Jim slid his hands to the back of Dean’s neck, absentmindedly toying with his hair. Unable to resist kissing along his jaw, he made his way back to the full, soft lips which had made his own, thankfully healthy heart, go pitter patter. 

Dean wrapped his legs around Jim’s, trapping him in his embrace. He wished they could stay like that forever; kissing Jim was his heaven on earth. As the emotional climate between them intensified, so did the fervor of their kissing. 

“Dean, I’d like to submit my confessions for the night now…” Jim put out to hang, and then yawned, “pretty sure I haven't told you this before, so I hope it doesn't come as too big of a shock.”

“Do tell.”

Jim whispered in Dean's ear, “I think you’re the cutest guy in the whole world, and I might have a super gay crush on you. Just so we're clear.”

“Oh thank God!” Dean dramatically clutched his chest, “I thought I was the only one. I gotta crush on me too.”

Jim broke out in raucous laughter “Yer such an ass.”

Dean got off the bed, the two bantered back and forth heading through Neverland. Walking into their room, Dean noticed Jim closing their door behind them. They’d never had reason to before now, it made Dean’s tummy twist and curl thinking about it. Standing in between their beds, they held each other.

Jim offered, “Then I petition you give me a four, because I’m still gonna be scarred for life from the embarrassment over my epic kiss fail.”

“We both earned a four on that, I’ve been trying for weeks to kiss you. You took that bull by the horns when I didn't, even though it did _ not _ pan out the way you expected. So kudos for that.”

“Can I trade’em for kisses?” 

Dean just laid one on him. A few moments later though, he broke the kiss, even before his tattle monitor went off. Jim looked at him questioningly, but he only smiled back, carefully placing their foreheads together. 

Holding Jim’s face in his hands, he spoke in a tone that was more vow than confession, “I thought you were amazing the first day we met. By months end, I knew I’d never want to leave your side. You are the cutest boy in the entire _ universe _ and I’ve had a crush long before the Fourth of July. Everyday, I’m glad you're my boyfriend. Happy Birthday Jimmy.”

Jim kissed Dean like the world was on fire. Everything he felt, everything he adored about him, he poured into that kiss. And Dean felt it. When Jim pulled away he raised his hand and spread his palm wide. “You win, I can't compete tonight. That was a solid five.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally they kiss! Who enjoyed the highly flawed, first kiss debacle? Sometimes fairy tale perfect is boring! What was your favorite part of the birthday?
> 
> In real life, Benny and Zeke would not be allowed to ride in Baby without parent and physician permission and signatures. But it was Jimmy's birthday and I wanted him to have a nice, smooth time so I chose to ignore that and explain down here.


	8. Chapter 8

Not much about them was actually normal, but they did share a common affliction with their perfectly healthy counterparts. Dean and Jimmy couldn't keep their hands off each other, and that was _ very fun. _

They became schedule experts, knowing exactly when the mezzanine was open and closed. It was important information, in case they suddenly needed to disappear for an impassioned five to ten minute makeout sesh. They paid even more attention to their nurses’ individual schedule variants, discovering a fairly reliable window between the hours of eleven at night and four in the morning when typically nobody needed anymore meds and before the insanely early morning blood draws. 

They used this time religiously to put on some quiet music, crawl into each others beds, and lazily kiss for hours until they fell asleep in each other's arms. It was the most delicious torture either of them had ever known. 

Much to Dean’s disappointment, his heart proved unable to cope with elevated rates. They weren't gunning for fifth base, but there was more than one way to skin a cat. Yet when things got intense, he’d have to pull himself back from that ledge his hormones were screaming to be thrown off. 

Jim felt it an unjust loss for Dean, so he remained in solidarity with his boyfriend. His boyfriend who was outraged at such a grievously unnecessary state of self inflicted torture for Jim. So he did what any self respecting boyfriend would do. Dean vowed to corrupt him. Alas, Jim would not be moved by even the most impassioned attempts, and it riled Dean furiously.

“This sucks! I got no say whatsoever for myself, and now with your metaphorical Purity Ring of Abstinence it's like we’re in Bible Camp. I can't even live vicariously through you! This is double torture!” he fussed one night after another round of _ Nope. _

Jim chuckled, “Ya done with the boy vapors?”

“Yes!”.....”No!” Dean growled, then rolled onto Jim, kissing him violently. The monitor chirped and Dean flung himself on his back in exasperation.

“Did you just rage kiss me?” Jim asked in astonishment. 

“No!...Maybe.”

“Do it _ again, _” Jim dared with an alluring raised brow.

Dean looked at Jim with predatory hunger. Rolling back over, he kissed him deeply, languidly. 

Jim hugged him close, running his fingers through his hair and asked, “Would you like me to tell you a story? About all the things I'd do with you, if we could?”

Insatiable curiosity about what his boyfriend dreamt of doing together sorta misdirected his frustrations. Jim shared his brazen ideas, brimming with breathtaking appeal. Eventually, Dean calmed enough he’d fallen asleep across his boyfriend’s chest. Jim followed minutes later wearing a triumphant smile on his face. 

~*~*~*~

October was in full swing when Charlie returned for another stretch of scoliosis treatments. Breezing into Neverland, all the guys faces lit up in welcome.

“I missed you! Nobody at home gets my brand of weird!” 

“I love your brand of weird.” Dean kissed the top of her head. 

She assessed changes in her royal subjects. “Zeke, looks like the growth button's on pause, that's good. Benny, is that a tan?”

“Nawh cher, got me on a new med. It's helping reduce my allergy to the transfusions. This is just healthy me I guess.” 

“I love it! Garth, chipper as always,” she enthusiastically offered.

He chuckled, “As long as my friends are happy then I’m happy.”

Regarding Dean and Jim, recognition spread across her face. “Holy Snozzberries! You never said anything when you called!”

Dean froze, Jim didn't, and the other guys wore faces of utter confusion. 

“You never asked?” Jim replied, his palms turning up in supplication.

Charlie took in Dean’s face as well as the rest of their friends’. Her brows furrowed in sudden regret, and her mouth formed a perfect O right before she covered it. “I'm so sorry. Me and my big mouth. I- I, crap.” 

The need to comfort her unfroze Dean immediately; he and Jim side hugged her. “It’s alright, we're not hiding anything.”

Zeke, Benny, and Garth followed but still looked completely lost. 

“We that obvious?” Dean wondered.

The right side of Charlie's mouth turned up in a sly smile, “To me yeah, but I kinda notice everybody and everything.” She winked at Jim and side eyed the rest of the gang. Fortunately, they were still none the wiser. Benny, at least, looked like his gears were turning.

She decided to throw them a bone. “So, newsflash: Gotta laptop upgrade, pretty sure my hacker skills have surpassed current academia. Oh and I’m definitely a lesbian, so when I’m eighteen I’m gonna marry Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

_ That _finally shocked some sense into the guys, who’d remained silent, not wanting to admit their disadvantage.

“Well now I’m not so sure about that, you may have to fight me for her.” Benny’s smile at Charlie was warm as the challenge hung between them. 

“You're on,” she accepted with a smirk. 

Garth addressed the elephant in the room. “Wait, so you boys are _ together _?” 

“Yep,” Jim affirmed.

“Everybody still cool?” Dean asked Garth, Zeke, and Benny. 

“Wow,” Garth grunted, leaning back against the opposite table, shaking his finger at them, “in this state, that's _ balls. _ 'Course we’re cool. I'm happy for you.”

Dean relaxed, then regarded Benny.

”I’ll be, you gonna actually make me say it? Hell, we're cool,” he promised with a twinkle in his eye. 

Being only twelve after all, perhaps it was too early for a concept like this. But as part of the group and a good friend, Zeke had the right to put in his two cents.

Benny clapped a hand on Zeke's shoulder, “Go on now, speak your mind.”

Zeke looked back and forth at Jim and Dean for a couple of seconds. “Are you guys still gonna hang out and play video games with us? Or just stare at each other all weird?”

That was it. Would their friendship change? It's all Zeke wanted to know.

“We’re still hanging out and gaming with you, I promise,” Dean said, raising his right hand, “I’m not gonna be gross in front of you. Can't speak for Jimmy here, but I’m not.”

“Ok then, yeah we’re cool.”

“James Dean..hmm, has a nice ring to it,” Charlie pondered aloud.

“What now?” Dean and Jim both asked.

“Your ship name. James Dean was the ultimate rebel.”

They wondered if it was part of the LARPing thing she'd mentioned before. 

“What about JimmyDean, eh? Like the breakfast sausage,” Garth suggested, not thinking it through. 

“Nah, that’ll be our porn name,” Jim shot right back.

“Nice one Wonder bread,” Dean complimented, ”my work here is done.” 

The friends spent the rest of the afternoon delightfully conjuring porn names for each other.

~*~*~*~

The Halloween spirit was upon the unit and the little ones roamed about with squeals of delight. The friends had planned on chilling out in Neverland, witnessing the frivolity. They were heading out when Dean was hugged by Garth-aka-Miss Piggy and Kermit(Mr. Fizzles) from the side. “Leave me alone!” Dean indignantly flailed, backing away from the ugliest wigged female pig _ ever, _ “I don't like fast women!”

Garth chuckled and began scratching his left boob, then pulling at the wild blonde wig. Nobody even mentioned that Miss Piggy never wore lipstick. His fuchsia shade was poorly applied, but the word was mum, lest he try to rub it off. The silver sequined gown however, was a nice touch.

“Dude,” Dean said, grabbing Garth Piggy's attention, “You fugly. Now_ that's _balls!”

Garth smiled and replied, ”I appreciate that.”

In Neverland, after trick-or-treating was wrapping up, Charlie, who'd done herself up in Leia braids asked everyone, “You believe in ghosts n’ stuff?”

“Played a Ouija game a while ago. Been seeing some spooky crap around here ever since,” Jim nervously laughed, then immediately reversed like a record player screeching, “or maybe it's just my over medicated imagination, dunno.” 

Dean didn't know what to make of that. He'd had no religious upbringing, nor had John or Ellen taken stock in the paranormal. His Grandpa Henry, however, was into that kind of “weird shit” according to his dad, and lived in some bizarro bomb shelter somewhere. 

But truth be told, he witnessed puzzling things around the hospital. Odd shadows dancing in the room and halls, purple flashes, clanging metal sounds like wind chimes. Even the greenish silhouette of someone walking around caught his attention once or twice. He’d chalked it up to his meds, so far. 

Later, the teens were gifted a karaoke setup and went nuts with it. Dean cracked everyone up with a special performance of Right Said Fred’s “I’m too sexy.” 

Once the group wiped away their tears of laughter and recovered, they turned to Jim. “Oh alright.” 

Dean was intrigued, he’d never heard Jim sing. 

As they waited patiently for him to begin, the unmistakable sound of sharp steel from an Appalachian banjo cut through the air. It filled the Neverland realm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The instrument’s precision strumming gripped Dean, stirring his soul and rooted his feet to the floor. The plucking of a fiddle joined in, immediately weaving a melodious story to the attention grabbing scene previously set by the banjo. 

Dean couldn't tear his eyes from Jim, but he was damn sure everyone else was equally as captivated. The weighty tenor of a cello rounded the overall beginning of the piece in a satisfying way that Dean would almost describe as spiritual. It was when Jim’s unusually deep voice joined with the already spellbinding reverberations that the story really took flight. 

_"I am a man of constant sorrow_  
_I've seen trouble all my day_  
_ I bid farewell to old Kentucky_  
_ The place where I was born and raised_

_For six long years I've been in trouble_  
_No pleasures here on earth I found_  
_ For in this world I'm bound to ramble_  
_ I have no friends to help me now_

_It's fare thee well my old lover_  
_I never expect to see you again_  
_ For I'm bound to ride that northern railroad_  
_ Perhaps I'll die upon this train_

_You can bury me in some deep valley_  
_For many years where I may lay_  
_ Then you may learn to love another_  
_ While I am sleeping in my grave_

_Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger_  
_My face, you'll never see no more_  
_ But there is one promise that is given_  
_ I'll meet you on God's golden shore"_

Dean stood there transfixed, the song spoke to him on an astounding level. Its jovial sound was in direct opposition to the lyrics, which told of an unkind hand dealt to a weary soul, certain of its fate. 

Jim’s eyes hadn't left Dean’s during the song, they remained on him still as he handed the mic to Garth, and B-lined it for his boyfriend with mild concern. Jim linked their pinky fingers, furrowed his brows and asked, “How's your heart?”

“Taken,” Dean immediately answered, hugging Jim close. “Sing to me later?” he whispered. He felt a nod in answer, and pulled back to look at the guy who never ceased to amaze. “That was incredible.”

Garth rested Kermit Fizzles on a wooden beam of the ship, which served as a log, and serenaded them with “_Rainbow Connection.” _Each of the friends sang along, but lost their composure while witnessing their beloved friend so atrociously dressed, croon with such genuine endearment. 

When Dean climbed into Jim's bed that night he craved only to be held. He drifted off contentedly on Jim’s chest, with fingers running through his hair, to a song from deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Its words called from the great Shenandoah, across the wide river to loved ones waiting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The American folksong, "Man of Constant Sorrow" was written and sung by Dick Burnett in 1913. It's popularity has been rekindled a few times by Bob Dylan and when featured in the movie, "Oh Brother Where Art Thou." It's been a favorite of mine for many years and reminds me of Castiel. I'd love to hear Jensen sing it someday because his voice is amazing as well as the lyrics also ringing true for Dean. 
> 
> In real life back in 1995, I'm not sure which friends would have been accepting of these boys coming out. But they're going through enough right now and deserve to be surrounded by acceptance and love. Guess the real question is, who else will find out and how will they feel about it? Alas, that's for another chapter....


	9. Chapter 9

Two weeks before Thanksgiving, Dean went for an ultrasound of his heart. When Jim wheeled him back to their floor, he masked concern asking what Dean learned from Dr. MacLeod.

“He said there's a lot of fluid around my heart and needs to talk with Dr. Speight and Dr. Kali about a 'minor’ procedure.”

“What does that involve?” 

“Sticking some big ass needle near my heart and draining off the fluid.” 

Jim knew he wasn't as blasé about it as he let on. Regarding Dean for a moment, his skin was a deeper shade of bluish gray, it worried him. Tightening Dean’s oxygen cannula below his chin, he maneuvered them through the double doors.

Although the sounds of phones, call button alerts, and squeaky IV poles were present, an aura of distress was palpable. Someone screaming down the hall had Jim pushing Dean steadily in that direction. The scene inside the first room on the left confirmed their apprehension was warranted. 

Meg sat on the bed holding Charlie, who cried and shook uncontrollably. The respiratory therapist turned to them with anguish in her eyes. 

“Who?” Dean asked Meg, yet she couldn’t disclose. 

A sob from behind the vanity area pulled their attention to someone else sitting there. 

“Zeke, you alright? Tell us what’s happened,” Jim softly coaxed.

The giant boy lifted his head from his hands, speaking with difficulty through tears and gasps. “G-Garth..he, never w-woke up this morning. Th-the nurses s-said h-his liver pump m-mighta not worked right or ss-somethin.” 

Jim went to Zeke, Dean went to Charlie, holding her hand while she cried. Silent tears fell down his cheeks as well. Meg was ever so soft with her, brushing hair from her face, whispering how blessed Garth was to have had such wonderful friends. 

“Does Benny know?” Dean asked Zeke. 

Charlie sniffled, “He’s in transfusion for another half hour.”

“Meg do you need to go?” Jim asked.

She checked her watch, looking incredibly conflicted. 

“I’ve got Charlie, I’ll sit with her. Thanks for being here,” Dean offered. 

He surprised even himself next, by hugging the woman he once deemed a torture specialist. Dean was beginning to understand the unimaginable strength of spirit possessed by their caregivers to do what they did, day after day.

Charlie cried herself to sleep. Zeke accepted Jim’s offer to be with him while delivering the painful news to Benny. Sitting in the quiet room, the sadness Dean felt made him want to crawl out of his skin, though he couldn't pinpoint why. Flashes of memories struck at him like static electricity, from times with Garth and Ash. Would he have done or said anything differently had he known? 

Eventually, Jim and Zeke lumbered in, followed by a red eyed Benny. Nobody felt like jawing, but they didn't feel like being alone either. Jim turned on the TV and they spent the afternoon together in relative silence. 

Jim had dialysis that evening and when he said goodbye to Dean, his eyes conveyed how it pained him to go. Both were devastated over Garth, it was another cruel reminder death and disease don’t discriminate. They take without mercy. 

~*~*~*~

The following afternoon, the teens from the East expectantly milled around the nurses station. Other nurses from both units, and a few Dean guessed were from other floors, trickled in from Neverland West with many young ones in tow. They trailed behind Jess to the atrium, where the roof and windows took a steady beating of ice and slush. Dean held Charlie's hand, she looked like she was going to be sick.

“Charlie, don't bottle it. Not here,” he soothed. 

As she curled into his chest, he saw Jess giving Zeke the wrist band. Dean understood why the kid was at a loss, but Jim was right by his side, guiding him towards the lattice. His eyes spilled with tears as he gestured for him to choose a place for Garth. 

Dean, Charlie, and Benny observed with painful finality as Zeke clasped the band in place, in an area near the top right section. To Dean's surprise he’d brought Mr. Fizzles, the sock puppet was still sporting his Kermit get up. Zeke started picking at the green felt.

“Leave it,” Benny suggested, placing his hand over Zeke's, “I think Kermit was his best look.”

Dean observed him placing Mr. Fizzles over the corner edge just above Garth. They placed their coin in the drawstring bag, and Jim linked his pinky with Dean’s. He welcomed the touch while leaning against the wall, as something unsettling had begun festering. Its tendrils tightened as he watched Jess hold a grieving girl of about eight or nine years old. 

The pressure in the air squeezed, he breathed harder to fill his lungs. Alternating visual flashes of them both assaulted him, a wristband tightly gripped in their hand, leaning on the lattice for support as anguish tore through their bodies. The atrium felt small, was it shrinking? Is this what Alice felt like after downing a bottle of “Drink Me”? 

Seemingly injected with fire ants and adrenaline, he wanted to crawl up the walls, run outside despite snow now falling, he’d swim through a twelve foot drift of it_ ...anything _ to get outta there. 

He wasn't aware of walking until out of the room, pressing elevator buttons. Then somehow he was in their room throwing on a hoodie and lacing up shoes. He needed to leave the hospital, _ now, _time warp be damned. Pressure on his shoulders kept him on the bed. Looking up, he found Jim staring down with extreme concern across his face. 

“Wanna get some ice cream, my treat? Heard the malt shop across the street gives extra chocolate sprinkles.” 

“You’re not going anywhere Dean. Didn’t you hear your O2 alarm blaring the entire way up here? Your face is _ blue. _”

He hadn't heard a thing, but now Jim had mentioned it, he felt winded. “A walk in the cold air’ll do me good. Maybe I’ll get hot chocolate instead. With extra whipped cream.”

“Dean! What the hell is wrong?!” 

“Nothing, can't a guy take his boyfriend out for ice cream? Oh! When you're better I’ll take you to our favorite frozen yogurt spot back home, ya get three oreos for free your first time!” 

Jim’s face morphed into a mixture of anger and terror. “We need to talk. This is the worst possible time for it, but you _ have _ to understand.” 

“I-I need some fresh air. It's too damn hot. I can't breathe,” Dean pleaded, oblivious he’d thrown on a sweatshirt, “we’ll talk about whatever, after a walk outside and a shit ton of sugar, alright?” he said, standing shakily, attempting escape. But he was quickly pushed up against the wall across from their beds.

“Sit! Down! Now Goddammit! Or I’ll have Tessa tranq your ass into next week! You're gonna hurt yourself!”

“I _ can't _! I don't want to!”

“When then? Huh? After I’m gone? That when you'll finally accept it?” Jim snarled in frustration.

“No. No no no.. see, that's not gonna happen. Roché’s a good doctor, they'll find something. Just wait.” 

The room was spinning. Fucking hell, somebody get him off this vomit comet of a ride already. 

“That's all I can do Dean! Wait! Meanwhile I might watch you die, hoping to God I follow soon after!” 

“You _ WHAT?! _ ” Dean's face was a combination of shock, fury, and pain. “Back the fuck up. What do you mean _ hope_?”

“I’ve been waiting. For _ years. _ This isn't a game Dean! It's not a matter of _ if! _It's _ when.” _

“Why in the hell would you _ hope _ to die? Even if I don't make it?” Dean’s eyes were blazing in anger. 

“Because I’m selfish! I am dying, there’s _ nothing _ that can change that. And I don't want to live another second if you're not here.”

“And so, so what? If I live, if I get a transplant, it's okay for me to watch you die? That's bullshit!” 

“I said I was selfish! I pray _ every fucking night _ I live long enough to watch you get news from Jess, Alex, or Tessa there's an ice chest downstairs with your name on it! Then I can go, knowing you’ll have that long life.” Jim locked his jaw and dropped his arm which had been barring Dean from leaving. As he did so, tears spilled down his cheeks in such quantity not even the sleeve of his shirt could wipe them all away.

“I don’t accept it,” Dean argued, “that’s not fair!” 

He took a deep breath, considering his next words, with an extreme vulnerability he’d never shown anyone, _ ever. _

“I’m not the praying type. I buy in to hope and hard work,” he explained, “While you’ve been _ praying _ to bite it first, to avoid the pain that’ll shift to me, ya know what _ I’ve _ been hoping for?” 

Dean calmed his breathing, so the weight his words carried would be received as absolute truth. 

“Most kids our age can't think beyond the big party on Saturday, or who they can take to prom that’ll put out.” The shaking in his voice was beyond humiliating.

Picking up their baseball hats, putting one inside the other, Dean held them over his heart. Unable to stop his own tears, he confessed, “I’ve been hoping the two of us will make it out of this 'Neverland,' so we can have something our friends never will. Being able to grow old with someone we’ve spent a lifetime in love with.”

Jim listened intently, his eyes grew wide as he took in the meaning of what Dean was attempting to say.

“This isn't some first love puppy thing for me. I’m not gonna get better, then leave you behind. And you can't ask me to just roll over and accept this as easily as you have. I'm a Winchester, we _ always keep fighting. _Especially for someone we _ love_.” 

Dean wiped his face and caught his breath, searching for strength wherever he could find it. 

“When my mom died, I didn't speak for a long time. I’ve _ never _ said that to anyone in the last ten years.”

He stared into the widening oceans of blue which cataloged his every word, every microexpression. They were windows to the soul for which he’d gladly forsake all others. 

“I'm in love with you and I can't accept one day you won't be here. It scares me so much. More than the possibility that I'll die waiting for a heart. You've any idea how it feels to imagine living decades without the person I love more than anyone in the world?”

Jim threw his arms around Dean and they both cried. “I'm scared too! I’m so afraid of how much I’ll miss you! I love you more than you can ever know, and in another life we _ would _ grow old together. You'd be so sick of my wrinkled ass!” 

He held Dean’s face, kissing him as their tears ran together, their sorrow intertwining into one giant broken heart. 

“I'm so sorry there's nothing I can do to change _ this. _ Us. I’d give _ anything _ to save you. Don't give up on getting a heart in time, even if...if I’m not here for it. No matter how much it hurts, you'll keep fighting. Do it for me if you have to, until you want to do it for yourself. Will you promise me this?” 

This hurt Dean too much. If he said yes, he was accepting what would happen. 

“Please Dean. Promise me. I need this. _ Please_.”

Dean couldn't, it was signing his soul's own death warrant. 

“Then do it for Sammy and Jo. They already lost a parent. Don't make them lose you too,” he said, squeezing his eyes tight.

“God Dammit, don't make me do this!” Dean sobbed, throwing their baseball hats across the room. 

He tried pushing away but weakened himself earlier with the escape attempt, and Jim’s arms were iron bars around him. Backed into a corner with no energy, no other options, he went limp in Jim’s embrace as they slid to the floor, Dean's sobs violently ripping through him. 

“Please,” Jim whispered, holding him. 

The silence stretched on until, “Yes. I promise you,” Dean gasped in defeat.

He kissed Dean’s hair, his forehead. “I love you. I don't want to leave you. You're mine. You’ll always be mine.” 

Dean allowed the sorrow and devastation to consume him. He’d been bound and thrown into an ocean of torment, unable to do anything but wait for the burning salt water to fill his lungs, and ferry him through the darkness to come. 

The next thing he knew, they were on his bed. Jim pulled off his sweatshirt, wiping the sweat and tears from his face. Dean leaned forward, trying to kiss him but his oxygen cannula slipped off halfway. He looped it back over his ear but it happened again. Why couldn't he kiss his boyfriend right? The damn thing was so annoying. He ripped the tubes out in embarrassment, but was stopped from throwing them across the room. Jim looped the tubes back in place, carefully tightening them under his chin. 

Holding his face, Jim kissed just above his ear along the skin the cannula touched. He followed the tube with his lips, feathering his cheek with soft affection, telling Dean he was loved as he was, in sickness and in health. Jim kissed the bridge of his nose and across his other cheek, bringing Dean’s focus into the moment, quietly and lovingly nudging him away from the overwhelming grief both carried. Working back to Dean’s lips slowly, he brushed them together and pushed them open, tenuously caressing with his tongue. 

They lost themselves in the feel of each other, in the sound of their their hearts beating against their chests. Dean's hand softly caressed up Jim’s left arm, pausing over the gnarled bumps vibrating with his pulse. He’d felt the fistula before, shocked by the powerful buzzing sensation just under the skin. Now accustomed to it, he lingered there, rubbing over it with his thumb. 

Pushing up his sleeve, Dean kissed from his shoulder down the inside of his elbow, taking time pressing his lips against the line of lightened skin, shaped like a rainbow along the inside of his bicep from hundreds of fourteen gage dialysis needles. He too needed to be shown how Dean loved him, in sickness and health, for better and for worse. To know he was beautiful with all his scars, which told of his journey and enduring spirit. 

Each kiss, every touch exchanged in the quiet of their room were vows in a marriage which would never be consummated in the biblical sense. Yet the purest love and devotion burning in their hearts for each other were no less than that of the truest union. Weary from the weight of their heavy burdens, they laid down. Jim tucked in with a blanket and Dean snuggled in at his side, resting his head over his heart. Sleep took them both quickly, bringing the nothingness their minds craved. 

~*~*~*~

When Dean awoke it was dark outside. He quickly realized another blanket was covering him that hadn't been when he fell asleep. Panic seized him. How could he explain himself? Sitting up apprehensively to face the music, what he saw was unexpected.

By the foot of the bed sat a sleepy looking Hannah. Worry must’ve flashed across Dean’s face. 

“You think I don't know? Or don’t approve?”

Dean considered a decent response. “How long?”

“Summer. He keeps your relationship private, but I do hear about things that make him happy,” Hannah explained with modest delight.

Dean was still shaking off the grogginess of the difficult afternoon. 

“You make him laugh and sense when he needs affection, even when he’s afraid of appearing clingy. He likes that you’ll let him care for you. Dean, I find myself worrying a little less when I can't be here because you're always by his side like he deserves.”

It would take time, learning how to function outside the looming inevitability of their situation. Hannah would feel the loss as deeply as Dean, loved Jim as much as he did, and by some miracle understood the nature of that love. Not many people were going to understand his pain, but _ he _ would. Dean was thankful for feeling safe enough to be honest, without fear of judgement.

“I love him. More than anything in this world or the next.”

“Thank you.” He placed a warm hand over Dean’s. 

“Are you and Dr. Roché together?” 

Hannah wistfully smiled, ”He understands my situation, empathizes in a way not everyone can. I'm focusing my energy and time on Jim now, which he respects. We’ve spoken though, and someday we’d like to spend more time together.”

It sounded healthy, realistic. “I hope it works out.”

“Me too.”

“Me three,” came a voice from the bed behind Dean, “you two done tiptoeing so we can go play catch?”

“Are you up to it? Neither of you look well,” Hannah wondered.

“Won't know until we try,” Jim yawned. 

“I’ll hang back, you guys do your thing. I wanna call Sammy, haven't talked with him in a while.”

Jim nodded in understanding, and Hannah warmly waved him goodbye as they left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else crying? I sure am! **Passes around a tissue box** As much as I hated my muse for this, it simply HAD to be addressed at some point.


	10. Chapter 10

Six days before Thanksgiving, Jim was hit with another round of pancreatitis. Three out of those six days were spent under sedation. Two of those Dean spent recovering from his pericardiocentesis. 

Sometimes when it was just he and Hannah, they spoke freely about Jim’s conditions. Dean learned with every occurrence of pancreatitis, his function decreased. Dietary ensured Jim avoided triggering foods. Medication partially helped. But the organ was in the stage of failure where little could be controlled. 

All were heartened when Jim felt well enough to join the Thanksgiving feast. He ate very little, but cheerfully engaged in conversation. It didn't feel like the holiday to which Dean was accustomed, the absence of two friends still mourned, certainly stung. Yet he was reminded of what they still had. 

John found a fellow Chevy enthusiast in Benny's father, and looked like they might talk shop. Jim’s energy had waned, so announcing he’d be right back, Dean walked him to their room.

“I love your family Dean. You're so lucky to have them.” 

Dean thought he looked so cute all bundled up in his blue and grey turtleneck knit sweater. Jim shivered a little, rubbing his hands together, so Dean pulled him into a giant hug, peppering his face with slow, sweet kisses while giving thanks of his own. 

“I'm thankful for Hannah. For our friends, the ones we miss and the ones still here. I _ am _ lucky to have such an awesome family and I lo-” Dean stopped mid declaration, watching the most peculiar expression spread across Jim's face. 

He quickly straightened his posture. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood on end hearing the sound of a throat clearing behind him. Glancing at Jim one last time before turning, he saw apprehension. But to Jim’s credit, there wasn't a hint of apology on his face. That alone gave him the strength to face his father, who’d walked in on his son hugging and kissing another boy. 

John’s face was blank, as he took in a situation that could not be misinterpreted or explained away. His eyes went from Jim to himself, then down at their hands still intertwined. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and questioning.

“You boys are looking at me fairly rattled. What kind of reaction were you expecting?” 

To Dean’s astonishment, his father sounded, hurt?

“We weren't sure how you’d feel about this.” Jim maintained the same eye contact as the first day they’d met. 

“Never know unless you speak up. You care for my son?”

“I _ love _ your son,” Jim confidently, respectfully answered.

John nodded slightly, then looked to Dean, silently issuing him the question.

“Same, Dad. I love him too.” Dean’s mind was telling him to brace for the worst, yet his heart, the part that wasn't broken or damaged, was telling him to wait. To trust in giving simple, straightforward responses.

“I’ll be honest, this'll take awhile to wrap my head around. Doesn't mean I-,” he paused, “ah..shit, what I’m trying to say, is you b-both,” John began stuttering, clearly dealing with a lot of emotions.

“I’m aware there's going to be ah, pretty rough road ahead. Reckon you'll need all the understanding people can give, not the other way around. I’ll always be in your corner Dean. And Jim, not sure what kind of father takes issue learning someone else loves their child, but today especially, I couldn't be more thankful you do.” John crossed the room and took both boys in his arms. 

To a degree, Dean had been worried how Ellen and John would take the news. Perhaps it was the prospect of losing his son that made this discovery seem like small peas by comparison. Having one less dark cloud over their heads made Dean feel better, stronger even, and more grateful than ever for the family he had. 

~*~*~*~

One December night while snuggling close, playing their confession game, Dean shared that a year earlier he’d snuck a modest sized bottle of whiskey into his bedroom. He'd stayed up without permission, watching the 70’s horror flick “Last House on the Left.” 

After quickly downing four fingers, his head was spinning. He'd stumbled around his room until finding a suitable spot to stash the bottle. 

“Did Ellen ever find it?” 

“Well I was gonna put a little water or apple juice in it to top it off, but felt like shit when I woke up, and forgot. But she sure cracked the whip the next day, had me doing the grossest chores ever.”

“I’ll give you a three. Was it as fun as everyone says?” 

“Maybe it's more fun with friends.”

“Wish I could try it,” Jim lamented.

That prompted questions about what else Jim wanted to try. Each made a list of things they wanted to do, but might not get the chance. Dean insisted Jim title his, “_In Case I Survive.” _

No surprise, _ have sex _ was in both of their top three, they were teenagers after all. Jim also wanted to _ get drunk, eat a bag of oreos (the real ones), take a ride in Baby when Dean gets his license, buy a motorcycle, stargaze with Dean, get really buff, go on a real date with Dean, learn Jujitsu, _ and _ visit the Grand Canyon. _

Dean tried hiding his regret for Jim as he scanned the other items on his list. With sorrow, he realized how little Jim had done because of illness, and how many things he’d never get to cross off. 

Among the items he’d included were to _go camping, learn how to bake, play on a baseball team, eat a bacon cheeseburger with extra cheese & bacon, learn how to rollerblade or skateboard, visit a beekeeper, try cotton candy, go to college,_ _eat chinese food, ride a scary roller coaster_, _eat spicy food, drink all the water I want, _and _protest the live insect trade._

Cataloging a few he hoped were do-able, when Jim trudged off to dialysis that night, Dean made some calls. With trepidation, he asked Hannah how long Jim might have. 

This was a question he’d been avoiding, but this wasn't about Dean or his fears. Jim wouldn't live long, but Dean could choose to help him live _ well. _

“The doctors have been vague. Sometimes I think it might be easier having a precise idea, other times I’m not sure. But there's things on that list I can make happen. Call your parents too?” Hannah suggested, “it’s a great idea Dean.”

When speaking to Ellen, he was met with equal enthusiasm. Mission: _ Live Well or Die Trying _ was a go, and he grew anxious for Jim to cross something off soon.

~*~*~*~

Finals approached, both boasted stellar GPA’s, so they finished the semester with nearly a tie. In celebration, Dean and Jimmy would be gifted a proper date night. 

Johnny Rockets was a malt shop/diner style restaurant around the corner from the hospital. Ellen put the Dietary department in touch with the eatery’s manager, who happily accommodated the boys’ dietary restrictions. 

Meeting by the nurses station, both fell in love with each other all over again. Jim wore a royal blue V neck sweater which made his eyes pop like neon against his perpetually tan skin. His hair had been carefully styled into that wild look Dean favored.

Dean sported his favorite forest green turtleneck sweater, with a brown leather jacket his dad had recently confiscated from the station’s lost and found. He loved the jacket and secretly hoped Jim did too.

To John's credit, he only appeared mildly uncomfortable. Dean was thankful his stepmom was cool enough _ not _ to insist on pictures. Knowing her, she had the forethought to consider he might actually die from embarrassment. 

At Johnny Rockets, the boys were relieved at having a booth to themselves; everyone else sat around the corner. Being out of the hospital together felt kind of weird; they hid their shyness behind the menus. Jim broke the ice first.

“The jacket’s cool. You look really hot in it.”

Dean’s head popped over his menu, his insides flip flopped. “Really? Thanks. The sweater makes your eyes even bluer, they're gorgeous.”

Jim still hid behind his menu. Yet a soft, “Thank you Dean,” was heard. 

“Hey, there's a bacon cheeseburger here, it's not a double, what do you think?” Dean felt more comfortable when food was the topic of discussion.

“You should get it. It's not on my approved list.”

“Mmm. No.”

“What? Not on your list either?”

“It is, but I’ll pass.” 

Putting his menu down in suspicion, Jim stared at Dean. “Why are you passing on that? I know you want it.”

“You're choosing to abstain for me. Figured I'd give something up too.” 

“But you're already not-”

“Woah, trust me that is_ not _ a choice. But you’ve made one for me, a difficult one. The least I can do is give up a burger.”

“So much for living vicariously through you!” Jim scowled.

Dean gave him a hard look that said “_Now you know how I feel about your choice!_” They could see Ellen and Alex’s heads pop out from around the corner to check on them. Both gave their fakest smiles and a thumbs up. Jim rolled his eyes, but Dean handed him a few quarters, grumbling to pick some tunes from the mini jukebox at their table. Jim’s selection of _ Earth Angel _ by the Penguins came on, then Dean decided to be a cute shit by playing footsie under the table. 

Halfway through dinner, Alex checked on them. They were feeling good, and thrilled to be eating _ not _ hospital food. They scarfed down as much as their bellies could hold, and were offered sugar free chocolate mousse for dessert. 

Ellen walked them out to the car while John and Alex took care of the bill. The boys were chilling in the backseat of Baby when Ellen up and said, “I changed my mind. I want dessert, gonna order something. You boys alright if John and I grab some pie? Alex might want some too. Should only take about twenty five minutes or so at most.”

“Y-yeah..okay,” Dean replied, kinda confused.

“Sure.” Jim tried hiding his ear to ear grin.

“We’ll be right inside if ya need anything.” 

Dean watched as Ellen skedaddled back into the diner, smirking. “I don't know why she didn't order when the server asked. Nothing like waiting til the last minute.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at Dean for a moment, then broke the silence. “Seriously? She just gave us a precise time frame for how long they’d still be in there, left the keys in the ignition with the radio on, and look how pale your dad's face is right now while she's talking to him. Ha ha ha!! She’s havin’ him sit with his back to the window, and winked at us!”

Dean tried registering what Jim already figured out. As the lights in his brain came on, Jim crawled on top of him, kissing his neck, sucking along his collarbone and nipping along his jaw. Dean started to laugh, and pulled Jim down on the seat so they’d have more privacy. Setting his watch conservatively he admitted, “This feels weird and awesome all at once.” 

Dean had Jim in his arms, and he was having an olfactory orgasm from his honey scented skin and Baby’s leather upholstery. He offered up a prayer to the universe in gratitude for the opportunity to make out with his boyfriend in his beloved car. “Having my stepmom wingman for me is all kinds of crazy.”

Jim said in between kisses, “I’d...say... it's all...kinds of cool.”

The tattle monitor ensured several breaks, much to his usual frustration. He bemoaned it was akin to an electronic chastity belt.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Jim teased, running his hands through Dean's hair. 

When his watch went off, they breathlessly sat up, and tried straightening their hair, but gave up in fits of laughter. Their babysitters headed back, so Jim changed the radio dial from mushy love song crap to whatever was _ not _ mushy crap. Alex scooted in behind the front passenger seat; taking one look at their disheveled appearance she stifled a giggle. 

John bristled in reaction to the death metal crunching out of the speakers. “Dean, what did I tell you about the music in this car? That's twice now she's been violated tonight. Hell, I'm gonna need a drink when I get home.”

Ellen rubbed his shoulder supportively, but she and Alex were laughing their asses off. He tried his best to hide how traumatized he was, but it only made the girls laugh even harder, until Ellen was actually crying. Even Dean and Jim couldn't suppress their smiles.

When they pulled up outside the hospital, Ellen and John stayed in the car. Dean walked around to the driver's side where John had the window down. The look on his face screamed, “_ Please just give me a hug so I can go home for that drink _.”

“Thanks for this dad, for, just thanks.”

John closed his eyes, pushing down whatever mild parental discomfort he was feeling. He was about to say something with heart when his eyes flashed to his son’s neck and he turned pale all over again. “Hope you have more turtlenecks upstairs. Do I need to have 'the talk’ with Jim?”

Dean's face was ablaze, as his fingers grazed over the skin where he realized Jim had been smooching earlier. 

“No Sir. Not relevant.”

John’s brows furrowed. “Not relevant or not necessary?”

Dean couldn't help his look of regret. “Both.” His monitor went off, as if personally explaining the situation. 

Sudden understanding spread across John's face. “Oh...uh...” He wasn't sure what to say, but his demeanor transformed to that of a soft, loving father. “Glad we could make it a good night for you boys.”

“Thanks Ellen, it really was great,” Dean promised. 

Ellen waved and winked, while John pulled out of the carport. 

After changing into pj’s and downing their pm meds, Jim snuggled into Dean, kissing him so sweetly he thought his heart would melt. On the radio, Blue Oyster Cult's _ Don't Fear the Ferryman _blanketed the room with pleasant sound waves.

“Thanks for the awesome date.”

“Thanks for the hickey,” Dean smart assed, but really didn't mind. 

He felt Jim’s shoulders shake with laughter. “I told you, you're mine. I meant it.”

“I’ll always be yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh how I wanted to give them a longer leash on this date! But at least they got to make out in Baby, right? Who wouldn't? Anyone shocked how well John took the news?


	11. Chapter 11

On December twenty third the unit threw a Chanuka-slash-Christmas party with arts and crafts. Cheerful music filled the halls, and children’s squeals of delight at goodies from their favorite doctors were heard everywhere_ . _

Getting artsy fartsy with Benny and Zeke, they spent a disgustingly fabulous time creating atrociously inappropriate Picasso style Christmas trees. They dodged Charlie, who'd committed herself to stealthily tricking Dean and Jim into wandering underneath her mistletoe.

Caroling to the littles in Neverland West, Rowena heartily welcomed them, showing particular interest in watching Jim's reaction to the children making Christmas halos. She seemed pleasantly astonished when he held a little girl wishing to bestow hers upon him. 

After dinner, Neverland was bedecked in hundreds of twinkling stars. Some were beautifully metallic and shiny, others glowed in the dark. The giant room’s three story vaulted ceiling flashed with alternating party lights, making the stars constantly change color. 

Under the ship a DJ played a mixture of current hits and holiday tunes. With the tables cleared for a myriad of frivolity, the teens of Neverland East realized the room smacked of high school gymnasium turned dance floor.

A slow song came on, which Dean secretly adored, yet he hesitated. Benny gestured to all the other odd couples and friends doing whatever the heck they wanted. Then Jim slid his arms around Dean’s waist as he serenaded him with one of the most popular country songs in history.

“_There's a rundown bar _   
_ Cross the railroad tracks _   
_ I've got a table for two _   
_ Way in the back _   
_ Where I sit alone _ _   
And think of losing you_

_ I spend most every night _   
_ Beneath the light _ _   
Of this neon moon_

_ Now if you lose your one and only _   
_ There's always room here for _   
_ The lonely _   
_ To watch your broken dreams _   
_ Dance in and out of the beams _ _   
Of a neon moon”_

By the end of the song Dean’s head rested on Jim’s shoulder, and when the music transitioned into something more energetic, the two remained glued to each other, lost in the lyrics and the love they shared. But not even the strongest heart eyes kept them from caving to the addictiveness and fun of dancing to “_500_ _Miles_” by the Proclaimers.

Needing a break after attempting to keep up with everyone, Dean sat for a bit, turning up his O2. The DJ was packing and setting up for karaoke, which was more his speed anyways. Charlie kicked off the songfest with “_I Love Rock and Roll” by _ Joan Jett. Then Dean chose a song. 

Turning his ball cap backwards, he put a little drama into the intensity of his performance. By the time he finished the first chorus, Benny was on his knees in tears. 

Dean sang quite well, but what got everyone screaming was him jumping from the little stage, sashaying towards the only person he had eyes for. Right before the second chorus he pulled Jim close and kissed the hell out of him. Charlie smiled like the kiss was her personal Make-a-Wish dream come true.

“_We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder _   
_ We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under _   
_ Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better _ _   
_We belong, we belong, we belong together”

Maintaining the drama, he spun Jim out, then back in, and dipped him. Benny would claim twenty years later it was the most epic dip and kiss he’d ever seen. 

Trudging off to their respective rooms totally exhausted, yet cheerful, the Neverlanders were full of thanks they'd found such wonderful friendship in a place all too easy to feel alone and lost. They'd come to know each other so well over those months. Little did they comprehend how years later, their bonds would become like family.

~*~*~*~

Christmas was quiet. The lovely cheer of the season wove itself in and out of the rooms and halls of the unit. Quite tired, Dean wasn't sure if he'd slept poorly or if he was worn down from the previous night's fun. Most of the day he curled up with Jim, watching The Grinch and Have a Holly Jolly Christmas. They entertained friends, played cards, and managed a nap before their families arrived.

After the fantastic feast, Dean noticed his O2 supply quickly diminishing. Wheeled down to Tessa for more, the monitor began beeping. Jim raised an eyebrow in concern but maintained silence, so as to not dampen the mood. 

John, Sam, and Jo were finishing a game of war when Dean returned, so Ellen and Hannah walked the boys back to their room before leaving. Each discovered a small blue box on their beds. Turning to Ellen, she simply nodded they should open them. When Dean lifted the lid of the box, carefully nestled in the tissue paper was a pendant clasped on a chain. Simple and beautiful, a small angelic wing extended from behind half of a blue heart. Looking up at Jim, he saw him holding an identical chain and pendant with a green heart. Both looked up at Ellen with eyes full of questions. 

“Dad?” Dean whispered to Ellen with surprise. 

“He bought’em. Painted them himself. Don't make a fuss though, you know how he is.” 

Dean was blown away by the gift, Jim was equally astonished, and already had Hannah putting it on. John was obviously still adjusting to Dean liking boys, but this gesture meant he was trying. Ellen helped Dean with his, then he got a closer look at Jim's. At that moment John walked in to say his goodbyes, and was assaulted with hugs from two silent boys, who loved both the presents and the stoic man behind them. 

Curled into Dean’s side that night, Jim sheepishly wondered if he could have one of his t shirts.

“Sure, but why?” Dean was interested in where this was going. 

“You smell good. When I’m sleeping by myself I miss the way you smell. It helps me rest.”

“I’ve been wanting one of your shirts for _ months_, but didn't know if you'd think it was creepy. You smell like honey, I love it.”

They fell asleep with snow falling heavily outside their window. Kissing slowly and sweetly, fingers entangled in each others pendants, they drifted off with visions of sugar plums and candy canes filling their dreams.

~*~*~*~

The relaxation and bonding carried into Christmas Day. Sam handed Jim his rollerblades and helmet to cross off his list, so long as he had the nurses approval. 

Dean continued feeling winded after brief periods of walking, experiencing episodes of chest pain. He hung back, while Hannah, Sam, and Charlie helped bubble wrap Jim's dialysis arm and he learned how to maneuver the rollerblades. He was a natural, _ carefully _zooming around in no time. Dean loved seeing his bright smile. 

So he hated excusing himself midday, because he couldn't stay awake. John sat with him while he slept. Jess periodically administered supportive meds, having been notified by Telemetry he’d gone into concerning rhythms. Dr. MacLeod was sharing Cardiac on-call duties with Dr. Kali; both agreed he needed imaging the following day. 

Dean knew Jim worried, the guy peppered him with soft kisses.The last thing he remembered of the 25th was Jim lingering over his heart, giving it the most affection of all. 

~*~*~*~

Imaging revealed the fluid removed just weeks earlier had returned. Ellen and John were immediately summoned to speak with the cardiology team. Dean sat between them, each held his hand while learning he’d have another pericardiocentesis that afternoon. 

The fluid’s swift return heralded cardiac temponade, considered an emergency due to the effect on a patient's sinus rhythm. His heart attack and concerning rhythms posed significant risk for further MI's. Additionally, the repetition of the procedure put his heart and immune system under more stress.

“Is there an alternative form of treatment?” John asked. 

Dr. Kali answered in a careful tone. “Normally, the next step would be a pericardectomy. We'd remove the fluid filled sac around his heart. However, it’s our opinion Dean wouldn’t make a good candidate for the operation.”

Ellen and John stiffened. Dean spoke up, “Why not?”

Dr. Speight had been silent for most of the meeting, but spoke to Dean with clear effort to maintain conversational calm, although the news was anything but. 

“It's open heart surgery. We're confident the risks involved far outweigh the benefits in your case. The only reason we’re willing to open your chest is to give you a new heart. Meanwhile, we’ll try another pericardiocentesis and hope this time it holds.”

“And if it doesn't?” Ellen wondered aloud, “where is he on the list? How much longer is the wait?”

“He’s moved up significantly in the last two months, but several children are still ahead of him. It can move very quickly, other times it can stall out. It's unpredictable. For now, we'll repeat the procedure, hoping it takes,” Dr. Kali answered.

“Again, if it doesn't?” John demanded.

“Pressure on his heart will increase, the lower chambers will struggle with expanding and filling. His blood pressure will drop and he’ll experience more severe rhythms. The defibrillator implant can only do so much with a heart as damaged as his. We’re hopeful, but also encourage you to discuss Dean’s wishes and complete an Advanced Directive,” Dr. Speight issued with a pained look he was unable to hide.

There was a knock at the door, someone spoke to Dr. MacLeod while Ellen talked to John about the Advanced Directive. 

Dr. MacLeod announced a cancellation in the cardiac cath lab. Dean figured it would do no good sitting all afternoon stewing about the concerns, so he followed the technician downstairs after Ellen and John nearly hugged him to death. 

Hours later he awoke to Jim by his side, holding his hand. 

“How are ya, sleeping beauty?” Jim quietly asked. 

“Mm’okay.” 

As Dean divulged the latest details, Jim was silent. He remained so long after his questions were answered. He held Dean’s face, staring at him for eons until both fell asleep. 

~*~*~*~

Increasingly unsafe weather kept Dean’s family home on New Year's Eve. Hannah determinedly arrived early, despite appearing near dead from exhaustion. Dean admired the cause for which he was working so relentlessly, and that he'd been miraculously able to spend the holiday with Jim. 

Benny, Zeke, and Charlie were all smiles in Neverland, offering their hopes for the next year. Zeke wished everyone could feel better and go home. Benny wanted the Saints to win a Superbowl. Charlie’s ambitions were modest; to seize Saddam Hussein's accounts, then donate everything towards ending cancer and Type 1 Diabetes for Ash and Garth. All present pledged approval and support.

Dean’s stretched beyond the soon-to-be 1996. He hoped someday, decades from that night, all of them would be gathered at his table for one helluva barbeque. Jim loved that idea and wanted that for him too. His own hope also extended far beyond the next calendar year. Jim's simple desire was for his brother's success in developing better medicines. While Zeke, Benny, and Charlie thought it a noble wish, Dean understood its full weight. He suddenly pulled him onto his lap, burying his face into Jim’s shoulder, trying not to cry. 

Jim gifted everyone hugs, having claimed Dean for the final countdown. In the mezzanine, Jim was putting the brakes on the wheelchair when Charlie called after them. Dean witnessed her descending down the slope, revealing his wing pendant which she carefully placed in Jim's hand.

Before quickly retreating, she removed her Tiara bedecked Tiger’s ball cap and put it on Dean. 

“Dude, you can't play ball without a hat! Don't jinx yourself so close to midnight! Found the pendant on the bench, I'll let Prince Charming put it on.”

“I’m not turning into a pumpkin!” Dean playfully called after her.

Jim determinedly commented, “Not on my princely watch.”

“In that case I'm a princess,” Dean gestured to his royal fabulousness, “crown and all, apparently.”

Jim smoothly sat in Dean's lap sideways; without breaking eye contact or composure, he leaned forward, stopping short of their lips touching. 

Clasping the pendant chain, his low voice rumbled, “If the shoe fits...or in this case, necklace. It means you're _ my princess.” _

They kissed so deeply, with such burning intensity, Dean actually saw stars on the edges of his vision. His arm slithered around Jim's waist, pulling him in closer. 

“Then marry me Jimmy. You're _my_ _devastatingly_ _handsome_ _Prince_,” Dean legitimately proposed, “Our story, our island, our rules. No one will ever love you as much as I do. Marry me before midnight breaks this spell; before time takes you from me forever.”

Jim withdrew his lips, holding heart and wing between his fingers. He looked upon Dean in endless wonderment. ”In this Neverland, we already are. And always will be. Love is stronger than death.”

The chasm within Dean's soul painfully widened. _Shit_. 

“Sorry.” He wiped a tear. He'd promised himself he wouldn't waste time in sorrow with Jim. 

“Don't. You shouldn't feel bad for hurting over this. For better and for worse right?”

Dean kissed him once more, softly this time. He was so tired. Yet grabbing the gloves and ball, Dean nodded he was okay for catch.

Jim seemed to sense his increasing fatigue and didn't put much distance between them. It felt so reminiscent of the day they'd met, when Dean was in awe of this kid who made him push outside his comfort zone and brought him a piece of normal, when he himself had no idea where to begin looking for it. When Dean had been lost at sea, Jim was the star that guided him. 

They played their game, taking up the usual trash talk until Dean’s watch went off, two minutes before midnight. Putting down the gloves and ball, Dean smiled as his love pulled him into a hug against the railing. 

He leaned into Jim, nuzzling their noses, singing the chorus to “We Belong Together.” He didn't stop when his watch beeped at midnight, nor when celebratory shouting was heard around the corner. Not even when someone let off a few fireworks across the street. Dean sang to the very end, Jim happily let him. 

“Happy New Year Dean, I love you. So, so much,” Jimmy whispered, kissing him with more passion and need than ever before. Within minutes Dean’s alarms were screeching; he would've been content to ignore them forever. But he didn't have forever, he might not even have as long as Jim, so he painfully paused. 

“No matter what happens, have a good year Jim. You're the most awesome friend to Zeke, Benny, and Charlie. You're the coolest, hottest nerd. I love you so damn much!” he growled, burying his face in Jim’s neck. 

“I promise to spend as much of it with you as I can. Okay?” 

“M’kay. I'm so tired Jimmy. Can we call it a night?”

“I'll say goodnight to Hannah then be right in.”

Leaning heavily on his chair, Dean went around the celebration rather than through it. He loved his friends, but felt a strange sense he needed to start the year with a good night's rest. 

When Jim returned with an unreadable look on his face, Dean wished he could do something to calm his nerves. He hadn't wanted to divulge what the doctors said, but keeping that kind of secret would hurt Jim.

He welcomed him into bed by cuddling close, resting his head on Jim's chest. “Will you sing to me tonight?”

“Any requests?” 

“I loved that one you sang on Halloween. The other one was pretty good too though. Can you sing both?” Dean felt needy asking, but he could listen to Jim sing for days. 

“For you, I would do anything,” Jim promised.

The last thing Dean remembered hearing was the deep voice he loved, lulling him to sleep with the words from _Oh Shenandoah_ and _ Man of Constant Sorrow. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ahead in this death race? Jesus these two kill me.


	12. Chapter 12

The light hurt the moment it pierced through his eyelids. Jimmy was back in his bed, curled up with Dean’s black t shirt. 

Tessa greeted him with an unusual twinkle in her eyes. “Happy New Year Dean. I have some really special news. You're getting a heart. The morning will be busy, but by ten am you’ll be in the O.R.”

Dean couldn't believe it. Just a few days ago things sounded pretty dire, and now? He was going to live! Adrenaline raced through his system. 

“Where's it from?” 

“We can't share that information. After recovery, you can send a letter through U.N.O.S., to the donors family.”

“Okay. When will my parents get here?”

“Not for another hour at least. I have prep work before handing you over to your transplant nurse coordinator. Don't have anything to eat or drink, okay?”

Getting out of bed, he scooted over to Jim, shaking him lightly, “Jim. Hey Jimmy, can you wake up?”

Rubbing his eyes, Jim draped himself around Dean, kissing his cheek. 

“I'm getting a transplant! They found me a heart!”

Jim squeezed him so tightly, “I told you this was your year! I'm so happy for you!! This is awesome!” 

He patiently listened to Dean's frantic, hyper train of thought going all over the place and smiled at him. 

“Oh my God, I’ve wanted this for so long! I'm gonna feel so much better! I can wake up in my own room, go to school, see my friends again. Finally back to a normal life!” Dean hollered. It lit him up inside to see Jim just as happy.

Then he instantly recoiled, like someone slapped him in the face. None of those things involved Jim. His room was back in Lawrence, his school didn't have Jim, his group of friends whom he really did miss, didn't include Jim. When would he get to see him? A few hours on the weekend? And they’d be supervised, because Jim couldn't leave the hospital, and his parents wouldn't leave him for hours on end. Worst of all, he couldn't hold him at night. He'd never stopped to marvel at how imperfect, yet domestic, their life was in Neverland. Adding insult to injury, he’d just flaunted everything normal Jim would never have right in his face. As fast as he’d rocketed upwards over the morning’s news, he found himself crashing down in flames just as quickly.

“Oh God I’m so sorry! Can't believe I said that. We’ll barely see each other, what if I’m home when y-you… when… I can't handle this! I don't want to be away from you! I’m gonna miss you at night so much! How do I do this? I can’t!!! Jimmy, God, what are we gonna do?!” 

His chest constricted and his head swam. Dean's life would be saved in a matter of hours, yet the change it would bring terrified him more than not getting saved. Panicking, he tightly gripped strands of his hair, while tears spilled down his cheeks. Jim held him, wiping his tears away, despite shedding a few of his own.

“You’ll live, as you were meant to. As I _ prayed _ for you to. As you _ promised _ me you would. I'll miss you so much. But I’m happier for you, more than I’m worried about change. Your family will do everything they can.”

“That's not enough! I don't get to keep you for the rest of my life, now because of this I won't even get to keep you for the rest of yours!” Dean cried. “This is so fucked up! I h-have to be here for you when you… wh-when y-you… shit! I'm so afraid of not being here!” 

Jim wiped more tears from his already drenched cheeks. “Why? It's not realistic.”

“The thought of you slipping away when I’m somewhere else, _ thinking _ of something else; the War of 1812, bullshit gossip at school, house chores, anything. I want to be here so I can tell you how much I love you. You're supposed to be with me forever, God damn it!” Dean yelled into Jim's shoulder.

“Just because I'm not physically here doesn't mean I won't know the awesome things you'll do.” At the risk of making things worse in an already emotional moment, Jim blurted out, “ ‘All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’ ”

“Gandalf said that when he was pretty sure he and everyone else was gonna die. Not the best time to quote Tolkien!” Oh. Yeah. There was that. Someone died, he would now be saved. Yet his world, _their_ world was crashing. 

“Jesus Christ. I’m going to be alive because someone's dead. Their family’s probably sitting in a waiting room somewhere completely devastated. How do I accept this? Every smile I have, every hug I get, is one a family will never have again with this person they loved. Ah shit. Help me Jim, what do I do?!” 

Dean fell on the bed, unable to control the emotional waves blasting out of him. How had he never considered any of this before? 

“Honor them. You couldn't have saved them. You can't bring them back. But they considered you plus six others when asking their family to make the hardest decision of their lives, if the worst ever happened.”

Dean was listening, but still falling apart.

“When yer confused as shit and try throwing something at Meg for helping you, sit up and focus on that pain! It means you’re _ alive_! Because someone chose to save you. Wake up everyday with intent to honor this person and live _ well _ with what they’ve given you. _ That _ is what you do.” 

Dean closed his eyes as more tears fell. “Feels like I’m leaving you here to die. Leaving you _ alone. _ It feels so fucking _ wrong.” _

Jim held such raw sorrow in his eyes that Dean, for the first time, had to look away because it hurt too much. “You’re always with me Dean. Never forget that.”

Dean was already lying on the bed, so Jim lifted the faded Zeppelin shirt up to his chin and kissed his chest. In between kisses he’d rest his ear over Dean’s heart for brief moments, listening, and then kiss him again. 

“What are you doing?” Dean wondered why Jim was getting borderline hormonal at a time like this.

“Your heart is dying. It has only hours left. I’m saying goodbye. I'm thankful for its impossible strength, keeping you alive long enough to find another. I'm grateful for the love it's shown me. Do you know how tired it is? You'll live a long time, but this heart won't. I’m saying how much I appreciate it.” 

_ Oh. _

Jim's kisses moved to his neck, his artery pulsing irregularly in exhaustion. He breathed in the scent of him. His lips caressed Dean’s, telling him no one was loved more, no one deserved more. 

A knock at the door quickly had them straightening themselves. The young man introduced himself as Dean’s nurse coordinator, who’d be helping him through surgery prep and extended recovery.

Dean acknowledged, but looked at Jim with absolute terror in his eyes. He wasn't nervous about the surgery or recovery. He just wasn't ready to let go of Jim, of their time together in Neverland, as suspended from life and the outside world as it was. 

Dean ghosted his fingertips along Jimmy's cheeks. As if some force was clawing him away, he whispered, “I love you forever_. _ Be here when I get back, please. Just always be waiting for me.” 

Then he kissed him urgently, not caring about what it looked like to the nurse. 

“I love you too. Always. I’ll be sending mushy love notes to the I.C.U. through Meg.”

Dean sat on his bed as instructed by the nurse. To the guys credit, he expressed no judgement. 

As Dean was wheeled out of the room, over the ticking, rushing sound of blood in his ears and the tattle monitor blaring, he heard the faltering voice of the boy he would always love, breathlessly say, “Goodbye Dean.”

~*~*~*~

The morning was a blur. All Dean thought about was Jim. He received a “cocktail” to calm his nerves. When the familiar push of the Versed crept in, he felt John remove his necklace as instructed by the nurse and heard him promise to keep it safe.

Everything was dreamlike, as he slid from bed to cold table underneath an enormous lamp. Dr. Kali touched his shoulder with firm reassurance. The meds were crashing out sound like waves on a distant, deserted shore. 

Another push of something much stronger, and a hissing black mask loomed above his face. He tried turning his head but it was as heavy as a concrete block. His last thought before fading into black nothingness was of Jim giving him a feathery light kiss. 

~*~*~*~

Sounds broke through first, just as before. Green flashes of light pierced through his eyelids, soft and quiet. Dean clung to the softness for distraction, from the sensation that someone had drawn their initials in his chest with a chainsaw. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. 

His hand squeezed… another hand? Had he responded to something? He was dragged under a dry wave which brought neither feeling, nor thought.

He was sitting up. Oh God the pain, it was so bad. Someone was trying to kill him. Their weapon, a soaking wet pillow, black and foggy. Icy mist curled from it, gripping his head and mouth. The freezing mist fought its way down into his lungs, where its thousands of talons clawed. Dean tried pushing the pillow away but his hands couldn't reach. They were taken and bound. 

Sound. A voice. The sound he heard was steady, loving. _ Dad. _ Rumbling. Two. Back to one. Two again, now three and four. Dean was hurting so damn much but the rumbling numbers helped him focus. It felt like home. He heard John say things like, “The smile, you see that? She's helping him. He knows. Dean knows her.”

The fucking pillow was back. Dean’s arm shot out, before tearing it away he heard someone familiar. A face. Brown hair. Sardonic tone. Yes, she was the one trying to kill him. Had been all along. _Meg. _Pain_. Breathe. _Pain_. Try. Breathe. Saved. _Pain_. _So. Much_. _Pain_. Saved. JIM_**_!_** He relaxed his arm. Listened to her voice. Tried doing what she asked of him.

It hurt. Ouch! Meg. This hurts. I’m sorry Meg. Ouuch! Didn't mean to fight you. I’m trying. Can you tell? He said to remember the pain. You're just helping. I'm confused sometimes. I'm sorry Meg. 

She held up a picture. _ Jim. _ My Jimmy. Hannah too. _ Family. Love. _Ellen and Dad. Sammy and Jo. Miss my Jim. Keep the picture there. Please! 

Each day the medicine was coughing, fog, and chainsaws. But that picture helped. It was his Jim. Jim was upstairs, close. Soon he’d see him. He’d see Sammy and Jo too. 

~*~*~*~

One day Meg brought a note. It said,_ “Do you love me? Check yes or no.” _

Dean chuckled. OUCH. Fuck that hurt! 

Another day, another note: 

_ “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. __Actually, fuck that. I know how much you hate math. Listen up bastard, you better not give Meg any grief. I love you so much. Get better. I miss you _.”

Dean tried not to laugh, but failed. It was time to send a note back:

_ “Quit making me laugh dickbag! Confession: I admit to a few swings, in my defense I was high as a kite. Rate that as you wish. Can't wait to see you.” _

He’d no idea such a mundane movement as getting out of bed could feel so horrifying. But per Jim's instructions, he woke up with intent to honor the generosity of his donor. The notes Jim sent via Meg were little things he lived for, encouraging him to keep going.

_ “Keep it up Dean! Remember, I still love you, even though you walk like Sophia from the Golden Girls.” _

_ “Guess what?! I don't need to be around another seventy years to watch you grow old. Sitting down there in that chair of yours, bitching and complaining, is giving Archie Bunker a run for his money. Suck it up Buttercup and get yer ass back upstairs! I love you.” _

Finally the day came to leave the Cardiac I.C.U. His parents followed a nurse wheeling him to Neverland East. He wanted to _ walk _ into his room, showing Jim how hard he’d worked keeping his promise. 

Fucking HELL did it hurt, but he and Frank had been working on it, so it was no surprise. John walked ahead, presumably to clear his way. Ellen scooched in between him and the vanity, putting things away in his dresser. 

Something was off. Why was the curtain drawn around Jim's side of the room? 

“Where's Jim?” He scanned for indication of where he might be. 

The room's heater blew the curtain sideways, he saw a flash of Jim’s shelf...empty. Had he entered the wrong room? To his left, he saw his ball cap on his dresser beside his movies and GameBoy.

“Where's Jim?” he nervously asked again. 

John's expression triggered a sensation of ice pouring down his spine. For the first time in his life, Dean saw terror in his father’s eyes. He heard a sniffle and uneven breathing from Ellen, but couldn't tear himself from his father, whose shaking hand was reaching for him. 

John placed it over Dean’s heart saying in a low, wavering tone, “He’s here son.”

“What. No. What? I don't, I don't understand.” Dean stepped back, shoving John’s hand away. 

“He’s there now. I'm so sorry Dean.” John's voice was all tremors and heartbreak. “We didn't know. H-he a-and Hannah never said anything until... We're so so sorry.” 

“No no no no. He’s been sending me notes. _ We’ve _ been writing each other notes. He was fine when I said goodbye. _ NO!” _ He couldn't accept this. It wouldn't compute. 

Absentmindedly touching his necklace, he startled at what he found. During recovery, he’d never noticed _ both _pendants on the chain. He grasped for the wall as if hit sideways by a bus.

Dean's field of vision tilted like the light bulb moment in a bad movie. His hands clawed at his chest and someone was screaming. He couldn't think with it droning on. 

John flinched as a tear escaped, landing on the floor at the same time Dean’s expression ignited with brutal understanding. He stood there helplessly watching as the emotional and psychological trauma ripped through his son’s young mind with all the damage of mortar on a battlefield. His own heart broke the night Mary died, it was breaking a second time witnessing his son suffer the same destruction of spirit.

Dean couldn't breathe. Air hemorrhaged out of him in violent expulsions. Eventually he realized he was the one screaming. This thing inside him, keeping him alive, was the love of his life. Just a part of him. Where was the rest of his boyfriend? His _ husband. _What had they done with him? He needed him right now! He needed to hold him. He never got to say goodbye! 

His love was on a cold table, chest open, in a sea of darkness ALONE when he died. And HE wasn't there! What had these people done to him? _ Who _ did this?! Unforgivable. _ Murder_. 

Dean backed away, still screaming with such force, like his throat was slit from the inside. John moved to stop him, but he turned the chair sideways, allowing a few seconds head start. He headed across the hall bellowing, “Who did this?! Who fucking did this?!” 

Out of his mind with grief and rage, blasting into the large meeting room, he found the doctors having their daily pow-wow over the unit’s patients.

“Which one of you did it?!” he yelled, gunning for the cluster of cardiologists. 

Dr. Speight stood, wearing a tormented expression. “My wife. She and another cardiologist performed the transplant.”

“Where is she?!” Dean demanded.

“At home.”

“Oh that's great. That's just fucking great. Must be nice having the emotional capacity to play God, commit murder, then take a vacation!”

Narrowing his eyes at Dean, the doctor took a deep breath. “That's a bold assumption I’ll let slide, given your emotional state. She’s on medical leave, this case has affected her more than you can imagine. She might not come back from it.”

“Roché know about it too?” Dean noted the good doctor’s absence. The room's silence told him everything. All of them had known. All of them conspired, commited murder. They all did this, they may not have held the saw opening his chest but these fuckers plugged it in, giving it the juice. He hated them. Every last one of them.

Dean was dragged out of the room screaming, and grabbing at his chest. “I have to live with this the rest of my life God Damn it! I'm alive because he's dead and all of you did it!!!” 

His vision was blurring, his energy waning. Dean hurt all over, every molecule of his body railed back at him with every neuron that fired off, as his brain told his body to fight this nightmare. He’d never hold Jim again, never kiss him, or hear him say I love you. Every breath he took for decades, until he died, every beat of this new life was gifted to him at the expense of Jim’s death. A life full of endless guilt and unfathomable loss.

Dean continued screaming in the middle of the hallway until his body had enough and collapsed. His father, who’d been giving him space in his extremely agitated state, wrapped his arms around him. At the contact, Dean screamed even harder, his throat was so overworked barely anything came out. 

“Leave me alone!!” was all he could say, as his father wrestled his fighting form into the room, putting him in bed. Someone had dosed him good. The unmistakable push of a sedative began seizing him. Fine. He was in a Hell now he’d never escape. 

_ The shirt. His Blue t shirt. _He heard someone say. Charlie?

The scent of honey filled his nose, his eyes were so heavy but the smell of honey, of Jim, was familiar. Dean didn't know if it was the shirt or the meds that stopped the screaming. He remembered crying himself to sleep surrounded by the scent of someone he loved more than his own life, a life that would now consist of decades without that person he wanted to share it with most. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you care for a hot beverage? Tea? Absinthe? A pitchfork? Who saw that coming?
> 
> Up until the early 1990's, terminal patients could choose to donate any remaining viable organs. However, their success rate was much lower due to the effects their primary illness and medications had on the organs. in 1995 it would have been possible, not 100% certain Jimmy could do this.
> 
> United Network of Organ Sharing, or U.N.O.S., is where transplant recipients send any sentiments they have to their donor or donors family. The choice to reply is up to each donor or the family they've left behind, but the process always remains anonymous until they decide to contact the recipient.
> 
> "Just always be waiting for me.” -J.M Barrie, Peter Pan


	13. Chapter 13

Dietary delivered meals, he ate them. Meg administered treatments, he took them. Frank visited, Dean worked hard every day. His friends took turns with his parents, sitting at his bedside, reading, watching TV, none of them pressuring for a conversation. Dean was extremely offended. Why did they insist on monitoring him for suicide? Did they think so little of him? No matter how emotionally destroyed he felt he'd_ made a promise. _ He followed every rule of recovery, pushing himself further everyday. But he did it all in silence.

Until a day Hannah cautiously entered, bringing envelopes and a small box. Had a service been held? Had he been buried or cremated? Had Hannah, in his grief, remembered to give Jim coin? Dean wished he could've emptied his savings account so his love's journey into the afterlife would’ve been a comfortable one.Terribly conflicted, betrayal gnawed through his chest knowing Hannah had to have signed off on it, or at least known. He also had to be feeling unimaginable grief, yet Dean didn't know how to receive him. 

Sitting at the foot of his bed, Hannah's expression was unreadable but the distance between them, rather than a customary hug, made it clear he understood space was needed. 

“Dean,” Hannah’s voice cracked dryly. His eyes had deep, dark circles underneath them, and he’d lost a tremendous amount of weight. That observation registered, allowing Dean to turn a release valve of sorts, though in later months he’d regret it.

“How could you let him do it?” Dean croaked.

Hannah's eyes were filled with heartache. Thinking on his words for a while he quietly replied, “My brother loved you more than anyone. He found a way for you to live, which in turn gave him a way to die. On his terms. His death would've been miserable. When he told me about this idea, I saw its wisdom and mercy.”

Hannah sought understanding in Dean's face, but expected no forgiveness. “I realized he was giving me the power to allow him a painless death, filled with incredible purpose. How could I _not_ give him that? He wanted his death to _mean_ something, and hoped to spare your family from the loss I feel. That so many other families are feeling. This is hard for you, but you're not alone. I promise.”

“But he was. On that table, while they carved out his heart. He died alone.” 

Hannah's face twisted in grief, “No he wasn't.” Tears flowed freely and his breath hitched.

“What?” 

“He wasn't alone. Dr. Roché, he uh..spoke with Dr. Kali. It broke so many hospital rules, but they allowed us to sit with Jim on the other side of the sterile screen, holding his hands,” Hannah was fighting to get his words out, it looked like he might be sick. 

Dean was numb as he listened. 

“We sat th-through..the sounds of the operation, holding his hands until Dr. Kali assured us his heart was at home within you, that you were doing well. Never planned on telling anyone, but I can't let you think he was alone, because he wasn't. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done Dean, but I did it for him. And I did it for you.” Hannah grabbed some tissues, collecting himself. 

Dean was in shock. He didn't know what to say. The information hung in the air, sweeping through his brain, but would take time to settle. All he could offer was, “Thank you. I promise never to tell.”

Hannah nodded, wiping a few more tears away. He carefully handed the box and envelopes to Dean.

“I know you’re angry right now. You have every right. But I will take your anger because it means you're alive to feel it. That's all my brother wanted. I wish you the best. Please let me know how you’re doing.”

“I will.”

He wanted to say more. He wanted to hug Hannah, cry with him. Dean just wasn't able to move beyond himself and his grief.

~*~*~*~

The day he was discharged was surreal. His parents collected his sundries and organized paperwork. In the hallway Dean noticed an overabundance of children, some carried by nurses, some were walking or wheeling around. Charlie appeared by his side, taking his hand in hers. His parents looked around quizzically, but seemed to catch on that an event for the children was waiting on Dean.

John looked concerned but said, “We’re waiting on my FMLA forms. We'll grab lunch across the street and come right back, okay?”

Charlie squeezed Dean's hand and began the walk towards the elevators. Before reaching them, his other hand was in Benny's. 

Still not interested in speaking, he implored with his eyes, “You guys waited, for me?”

“Charlie wouldn't let them without you,” Benny answered with a sad little smirk. 

He was scared. Really, really scared. They helped him into the atrium where Jess awaited. Her lower lip trembled when placing the wristband in his hand.

Dean wasn’t sure he could do this. His friends seemed to know and held him close, walking at his pace, letting him stop when needed. He wasn't ready to look at the band-ridden star-filled lattice, let alone decide on a place for Jim. Seeing Mr. Kermit Fizzles up there still stung. What was he going to do? How would he ever move beyond this? Making a loud gulping noise, he realized he was crying. He couldn't stand any longer. Fortunately Zeke was behind him, helping him to his knees in front of the lattice. 

He didn't want to do this! The goodbye hurt way too much. Dean let out sobs he’d been holding in for days. Everything good he’d dreamed of doing in his life for the last nine months included Jim. He’d wanted him to recover, go to college, maybe even the same college. He’d dreamt of a day he could legally call Jim “husband,” and was even so morbid as to comically envision matching “his” and “his” headstones. But it’d all gone up in smoke. 

He cried for Jim. For himself. How would he live without his love? Right then, he didn't want to. He wasn't considering self harm. That would be sacrilege. He was a lost boy with no idea how to navigate these waters of doubt and uncertainty. Minutes, maybe hours, went by. He was unable to move, unable to place the wristband on the lattice. He knew he needed to, but he was frozen. Suddenly, his parents were beside him. He turned, watching his friends, the only people left in the atrium, looking back at him with so much love and understanding. 

The lattice was an enormous sky, and Jim had been his light in a dark time. His time in Neverland. Dean was leaving that realm. The realm which suspended time for some, and stole it from others. He hoped Benny, Zeke, and Charlie would soon follow. But Jim never would. A bittersweet thought occurred to Dean. He knew where Jim belonged. The heart he’d been given was a guiding light, steadfast and true. Part of that light would shine within himself, ever pointing him on a northerly path. The part remaining in Neverland, belonged with those who welcomed the lost. 

His eyes roamed up the lattice over to Garth and Mr. Fizzles. Clasping the band two spaces in from the edge, beside Garth, and sighing in grief, he sent his love a thought across the universe, “_Your new home Jim. On the second star to the right. You and Garth keep the lost littles safe, okay?” _

“Son, let us help you,” John said.

Dean broke his silence. “How will you? Dad, I loved him so much. You don't understand! You haven't woken up to find the love of your life’s heart is inside you! I don't know how to help myself, so how will you?”

Ellen lovingly reassured him, “We lost our first loves the same night. You and Sam are pieces of Mary, Jo is the same for me. They’re precious parts left behind to care for, like the heart in you. If _ anyone _ can understand you, it's us.”

Ellen brushed a few tears of Dean's away, then a couple of her own. “The hurt won't completely go away. But everyday we wake up with the courage to honor them and make room for more love. It comes from everywhere, it’ll get you through this, if you let it,” Ellen lovingly offered a generous handful of coin. 

Feeling a tickle on his hand, he saw a little grasshopper resting there. Perhaps it came from the beautiful yellow flower nearby. Just that single one, he hadn't noticed until that moment. With five petals giving it a star shape, its glow was bright, reminding him of the northern star. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, when he opened them, both grasshopper and flower were gone. Words Jim had once spoken came to mind, “_A__ shift beyond their control, causes them to rapidly undergo a transformation resulting in them becoming the biggest and best version of themselves.” _

Dean really didn't know what to do with that memory, but tucked it away for a later time, feeling a little stronger for holding on to it. In that moment, Dean Winchester also remembered he was indeed loved by Ellen, John, Sam, Jo, and so many others. He took a leap of faith, kept his word, and decided to _ really _live like he meant it. 

~*~*~*~

** _Thursday_ **

** _March 3, 1996_ **

_Dean,_

_ I know you're angry and hurting. You never would've agreed to this if I'd told you. The difference is you had a chance to live. I didn't. _

_ I want you to sit in Baby. Roll up her windows and tell her everything. Or not. She’ll let you rant or hold you in silence, just as you’ve been there for her. I stole the time we had left so you'll take your driver's test, see Journey in concert with friends, build a home, and play with your grandchildren. You’ll do all of these, without it hurting like it does now. _

_ The people who treasure you want to help. Let them. They won’t rush you to feel better, or judge you when you don't. On days it's really bad, they love you even more. A day will come when there's so much love in your heart you’ll need to share it with someone new. I can't wait for this lucky boy or girl to find you! Being your boyfriend was amazing. You were funny everyday and made me like being me. I felt so loved. Thank you. xoxo. _

_ The world is full of assholes. A lot of great people too. Some will deserve to feel loved by you as deeply as you loved me. You set aside your fears, and devoted time ensuring I lived well. When you find somebody you like, make sure they do the same for you. No one is more deserving. _

_ Take chances, follow the heart I’ve given you! Even if it leads somewhere unexpected, that's when real living happens. Date lots of girls. Date lots of boys. Kiss them. You're so good at it! Have a threesome, even my gay ass thinks that sounds cool! I’ll award you a five cause that's a confession damn well worth hearing. _

_ Speaking of… I’ll submit my last two confessions now. _

_ The first-- when you had pneumonia, the thought of you dying was too much. I began the matching process. Being O+ meant there was a chance. The tissue typing results were a huge relief. Last part was a psych evaluation, which was ironic and fucking funny as hell: _

_ “Yes I personally know the recipient. I won't change my mind and harass the recipient from beyond the grave. Is my mental state sound? I’m dying either way Doc, yet asking to save someone's life in the process. If that's considered seriously unstable, perhaps we should re-evaluate your qualifications.” _

_ We found out the 27th of December. This sounds messed up, but I was happy. It meant everything. _

_ The second-- I knew the day we met I’d give you my heart. No, not literally… that came later (See above confession). You didn't know me, but cared enough to leave me a snack. You were angry with your situation. But I felt you responding to me, if that makes any sense at all? _

_ Playing catch that first night, the relief you felt at something so normal made me proud to do that, to make you feel better. It only took a day to fall in love with you, and your heart by that days end wanted me just as much. So, love at first sight I guess. Cheesy, huh? _

_ Being with you was a lifetime for me. You never knew how much longer I had, did you? My expiration date was one week after we met. That's how long I was supposed to live. Both of us benefited from each other. Being loved by you gave me nine months of happiness. I'll be grateful for eternity, even if it was time borrowed. How could I not return the love and life you gave me tenfold? _

_ I love you. I will always love you. You’re my best friend. My boyfriend. My princess. My husband, forever in Neverland. _

_ But your life awaits. Live long, live well, and without regret. We’ll see each other again, I promise. _

_ XOXOXO, _

_ Jim _

** _End of Storybook I - Lost_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone feeling emotionally drained? It killed me to write this. The good news is that you are roughly 30% into the story and I promised you a happy ending. I've kept my promise. The sun will shine again on Dean, of this you can be sure. 
> 
> Spotted any Easter Eggs? If so, speak up! I'm curious to know which!
> 
> In reality, Hannah obviously would never be allowed in the O.R., and Dr. Roché would never even suggest it, let alone risk his career by asking. But I've come to love this pairing so much, they would at least possess the intent to be there for Jim and Dean in this case. 
> 
> Dearest readers, may I bribe you, with fluff and smut? Get a drink. Wrap yourselves in a blanket. Grab a pet to snuggle with. And let's fast forward a couple of decades to see how Dean is doing and experience him meeting a mysterious Castiel.


	14. Storybook II - Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All citations, quotes, and translations in the second part of this story can be found in the end notes of each chapter.

**Storybook II-Found**

“_You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I’ll always love you. That's where I’ll be waiting_.” -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

** _Early Fall _ ** ** _2015_ **

Icy air sliced through the humid decay of an abandoned hospital room. A tilted chair lay discarded in the corner. The torn curtain angrily billowed from the painted windows. No light, no warmth had touched this place for decades. 

A teen held himself, rocking in distress. Tears streamed as freely as the offers made in a tongue unknown to him. The broken curve of a pentagram underneath a makeshift Ouija board revealed unparalleled desperation.

“_ Ad ligandum eos pariter eos coram me!” _

_ “Ad ligandum eos pariter eos coram me!” _

A scaly mist appeared with coiling menace. The boy suddenly looked satisfied this was what, or whom, he’d summoned. His posture indicated a boost in confidence, and that he was knowingly sealing his fate of endless torment, provided it guaranteed salvation for another. Recognizing the boy was deferring the first round of negotiations, preferring to counter, the entity moved to speak. Suddenly, high pitched wind chimes echoed from the hall. Flashes of purple bound the demon, thrashing in its fury to have been thwarted of such an innocent accord. 

Peering at the shifting restraints, the boy was taken aback, recognizing eyes. Dozens and dozens of feminine eyes regarded the boy, flaring with purple luminescence. 

“_Tapadh leat. Bheir mi às a seo e_.” 

The almost-familiar voice belonged to the orator just entering-

Shock akin to lightning jolted a sweat soaked Castiel from his bed. Previous dreams had revealed the same bizarre conjuring. The truly fascinating part was that vaguely familiar voice. And the boy? Far too similar to himself for comfort. Then the lingering effects of the dream...

Everything was alive through lenses of blue illumination. Each detail in the wooden walls, the impossibly small stitching in his comforter popped in alarming clarity since these dreams began in mid September. Concern from his beloved mastiff, Fortinbras, broke the heavy silence.

“I'm okay Fort, I’m okay.”

Castiel was odd. Those who’d discovered how odd removed themselves from his life. So he’d learned to hide the juju. Although, these new dreams were some next level REM destroyers.

The family who’d finally welcomed him and most definitely _ loved _him weren't privy to the 'extra’ crap occurring in his head. He’d made sure of that. Endeavoring to shield himself from the pain of condemnation and ostracization, he’d hidden this part of himself from even his best friend. 

Castiel turned over in the dark and for the millionth time in his life, wondered what was wrong with him. Right now he was up a creek, alone in this by choice, and naively hoping by some miracle, it would all just go away. 

~*~*~*~

“Sam! Headin’ out!” Dean called from the library. 

“One more thing!” Sam charged to catch him.

“Speak now or forever hold yer peace.” 

“Gummy bears?” 

“Easy on the sugar, man. Between the kale, almonds, the edmo..edahoo..whatever the f-”

“Edamame beans. They're good protein. The gummies are a treat.” 

Dean cocked his head in question. 

“Glad you're here. Working less. Feels more like home.”

“I’ll get your gummies. Need some fruit roll-ups too? Teddy Grahams?” Dean teased.

“Just the gummies. Go.” Sam shooed him out.

Dean had remained calm while moving from Lawrence to Lebanon. Yes, this was Jim’s hometown, yet last he’d heard Hannah still worked in Lawrence. 

His sweet tooth demanded a homemade cherry pie roll up from Ladow’s on Main. Baby pulled in beside a green and white ‘70 C10 pick up. Absentmindedly swaying to the radio inside the store, he heard the clerk greet whomever made a solid “_thwunk_” on top of the counter.

“How are ya? Perfect timing! Last jar sold this morning,” the clerk welcomed. 

“Hello. Sorry. I would've delivered earlier but my truck just died.”

Dean froze. For the first time in two decades, his heart momentarily went into a tachy rhythm. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean silently convinced himself it wasn’t pericarditis, the painful symptoms he'd frequently experienced in St. Luke's. Upon hearing the man’s voice, his heart acted up. Dean remembered that voice. It was deeper, and containing a hint of shyness woven in its tone, he knew that voice on a subconscious level. Spying through the shelves, he noticed the guy sporting a burnt orange shirt and fitted jeans showcasing an ass to die for. He’d brought in a large crate, mentioning his truck made an unsettling grinding sound when turning the ignition over.

“You checked the turn signals and back up lights when turning it over?” 

Instantly regretting opening his mouth when the man turned to answer, Dean’s world came to a screeching halt. The guy had the most beautiful, deep blue eyes and the face of an angel. But all Dean saw was a ghost. The ghost of Jim, if Jim had grown up. Awkwardness grew by the second, the guy must've seen his alarm. Didn't help that he was incredibly gorgeous and looking at Dean in all manner of curiosity, eyes squinting, head tilting, oh God no. It was just like-

"Not yet.” The guy stared back with an odd expression. 

“You guys know each other?” the clerk asked.

So he wasn't imagining it. Awesome. There really was a completely weird exchange occurring. 

“Not sure. I’m Castiel, you are?”

“D-Dean Winchester.” Deja fucking vu. 

“Dean Winchester? From Lawrence?” 

“Wait, you know me? How?” 

Castiel looked regretful. “That's kind of personal.”

“Hold up. You apparently know me, but won't say how? Buddy, you just made it personal.”

He needed clarification, but if he appeared too brash he risked making a bad first impression with not one, but two citizens, of a very small town. Not bright.

“That's a fair point,” Castiel stiffly assessed. 

“Let’s go outside, I'll look at your truck, we’ll figure this out.” 

“Alright. I’d appreciate that.” 

Walking out, Dean noted jars of honey in the crate. The labels read_ Sentinel Orchards_, it was the best honey he’d ever had. 

Castiel turned the ignition when prompted. The lights were dead, so Dean popped the hood, asking him to turn it over again. There was that grinding noise he’d mentioned.

“Any wiring work done recently?” 

“Nobody’s touched it other than what’s required during regular care. I’m diligent in maintaining this truck.”

Dean nodded, “Well, there's a common electrical problem with older C10’s. Could be happening anywhere between your starter solenoid and the distributor. You work on this yourself?”

“I’m not a car enthusiast. Gotta good place though, and follow their advice to the letter.” 

_ Another difference_. “My garage isn't organized yet, or I’d offer. Electrical issues might require removing the dash. Gets pricey. If you get an estimate, I'll find the parts online for a lot less and have them delivered. You’ll just pay your mechanic for labor.”

“That's extremely generous,” Cas admitted, still dithering.

“I'm a generous guy,” Dean winked, despite his lingering shock, “full disclosure though, this truck ain’t moving and that last crate needs out of this sun. Figured you need a ride, we could address the elephant in the room on the way.”

“That sounds reasonable, thank you.” 

“This is a beautiful classic,” Castiel observed of the pristine Impala, and pointed in the direction of home. “So you're a mechanic?”

“Muscle era projects mostly. This here’s Baby, been in the family a long time.”

He noticed Castiel’s eyes roaming over her interior, which included himself. People could say anything about him, but they diss the car, their ass was walking. Dean didn't wanna make this guy hit pavement before getting an explanation.

“You’ve given her a lot of love. She's very lucky.”

Dean detected a hint of awe. “Thanks for noticing. Now, why don't you shed light on how you know me, even though we’ve _ definitely _ never met.” 

He appeared to steel himself for a crap load of WTF. “This wasn’t a conversation I ever expected to be having. Apologies for causing any emotional discomfort,” he warned, fiddling with his phone, “left up here.”

“Perfect lead. Rip the band aid off. _ Please._”

“I don't actually _ know _ you. Just _ of _you. Through stories.”

Dean clenched his jaw. It was like pulling teeth. “Stories?”

“I know many things about you, Dean, from reading my brother's journal."

~*~*~*~

Brother. Jim had a brother. Dean didn't recall Jim having a journal. Where’d this brother come from? Had Jim known? Hannah? He wasn't sure how to process this. He’d worked hard with someone for _years_ to move forward in a healthy way from St. Lukes and the devastating losses. But if Jim had a brother, he wanted to know him. Even if it meant poking at sensitive scars with jagged sticks.

“Turn here.”

They reached a sign for Sentinel Orchards in front of a quaint green and gray pole barn house atop a small hill. The only other home on the dirt road was a stunning burgundy and brown two-story craftsman.

“Park in the driveway. You can come in, I texted my parents. They'll be down in a few minutes.”

“This is a lot to take in,” Dean confessed, trying to quell the surging storm inside.

“I imagine, but you'll get answers if you want them. And, see the home Jim grew up in?”

Dean’s facial expression must’ve been severe.

“You’ll hear everything, I promise. They’re the most open people I know.” 

Dean nudged himself out. It was a testament to his progress, despite the screaming inclination to strip Baby’s tires bald peeling out of the driveway, speed limits be damned.

Rounding the inside entry corner, Dean took in the wide kitchen leading into a large, open home. Everything was beautiful hardwood, like a polished barn. The vaulted ceiling was so high, Dean imagined it mimicked the night sky.

Castiel politely offered, “Lemonade?” 

“Sure, thanks.”

The second it touched Dean's tongue, the perfection of sweet and slightly sour told him it was homemade from earlier that morning. He shamelessly guzzled it down, and Castiel’s mouth twitched in awkward delight.

A sizeable dog bed, minus the dog, rested in between the kitchen counter bar stools and the wall. The back sliding glass doors revealed an enormous property partially landscaped, but mostly orchard. 

“This is nice. Feels zen here.” 

“Hey son!” someone called from the entryway.

“In here!” 

He was shocked to see Dr. Roché and Hannah walk in. 

“_Dean_? Dean, oh my God. What are-how are you? What a surprise,” Hannah exclaimed. The years had been kind to them both.

Dean registered the second Hannah remembered how they'd parted. His demeanor though was no less welcoming. Dr. Roché smiled, pleased to see him as well.

Once again, he felt conflicted. Months after transplant, he’d deeply regretted his behavior. He hadn't been capable of mourning _ with _Hannah like they’d both needed. Time hadn't weakened or faded his love for Jim, it still burned brightly. Dean would’ve gladly extended that warmth to any of his family. 

“Good. Little shell shocked here, to be honest.”

“Are you passing through? How's your family?” Dr. Roché asked.

“Everybody’s good. Mom and Dad are still in Lawrence. We inherited property here from our grandfather. Sam's been here a while. Jo and Charlie too, they're engaged.”

“Jo and Charlie, really?” Hannah exclaimed with joy in his eyes. 

“She kind of adopted us. Benny’s in Lawrence, married.”

“Wonderful news. How about you? What line of work are you in?” Dr. Roché queried.

He was accustomed to explaining his unique specialization. But now it felt awkward. Jim said to follow his heart, even when it led him to unexpected places. There in the most dangerous storm, a place he never imagined he’d be drawn, Dean discovered a relentless passion, and thrived. 

“Nursing. Pediatric hospice.”

While the faces of Hannah and the good doctor turned to awe, Castiel’s morphed in confusion. “You're not a mechanic?”

“Unofficially. I like the occasional project, and can fix your truck in my sleep.”

The doctor recovered from dismay. “Good Lord. After everyth-it's incredible. I’m very happy for you.”

“What about you?”

“I’m the medical director of the regional pediatric dialysis clinic,” Dr. Roché informed.

“I work from home, but travel back and forth to Lawrence every few weeks,” Hannah explained.

Dean was compelled to know, “Any breakthroughs?” 

“My team's building on the success of Tacrolimus, which saved Castiel and thousands like him.” Hannah gazed at Dean very pointedly.

“Castiel was sick too? Same as Jim?” 

Castiel nodded, but let Hannah speak.

“The drug works with the body, allowing steroid compatibility.”

This was fantastic news. Then a curious thought invaded. “When was it safe for use?”

Hesitantly, Balthazar replied, “Clinical trials began mid-97. Castiel was one of seven children needing pancreas and kidney transplants, who participated in the first trial. All seven are alive and well.”

A year and a half. Dean knew Jim never would have made it that long. But in the grand scheme, it was such precious little time. He’d been running a race his whole life against death, and winning. That short amount of time it took getting to trials meant he’d died within sight of the finish line. 

Dean held his head in his hands, fighting against the urge to cry or throw something. 

“I know how you feel Dean,” murmured Hannah.

And Dean knew he did. More than anyone. Well, perhaps Dr. Roché did too. Wiping a tear away, he turned to Castiel with sincerity, “I’m sorry for what you went through. But you have no idea how glad I am you got the medicine you needed.”

The guy did _ not _ have to look at Dean like he was an injured pup he really wanted to soothe. He found himself entertaining thoughts on what that would feel like for a hot second. Then felt guilty as hell for going there. 

“I'm good now,” Castiel proudly stated. He climbed the stairs, then descended with something tucked against his chest. 

“I’m meeting the tow truck at Ladow's. Thanks for your help. I’ll get the repair estimate; if it's still alright, could you order the parts?” 

Dean found the unexpected hope in Castiel's expression bewildering, but readily jumped at the opportunity to cross paths again. 

“Consider it done.”

“It’s been strange meeting you, but enlightening.” He nervously turned the item in his hands. 

“I agree.”

“My brother loved you very much. I never met him. I'd like the chance to know you, but please don't feel pressured. Here's his journal, if you feel up to reading it,” Castiel handed him the leather bound book.

His heart fluttered when Castiel said he'd like the chance to know him. Dean really did too, but now realized he needed to examine why.

“Thanks. Like you said, it's been weird. But good. My family and I definitely want to know you too.”

“Sure, I’d like to meet them. See you in a few days,” Castiel smiled as he left. 

Dean thought he’d lost all ability to function. That radiant smile took his breath away. But it was also Jim’s. He was so hurt, confused, hopeful even? What a fucking mess. 

“How could you not tell me?”

Both dads were anticipating Dean's questions. Balthazar began. “Nobody knew. He’s two years younger, same father. The mother signed over parental rights when he fell ill at age four.”

“Four years after Jim, social services called when learning we’d filed to adopt,” Hannah continued.

Balthazar nodded, “How could we not help him? It wasn't his fault and he needed good care.”

“He’s lucky to have you guys, I’m glad you got him when you did. But Hannah, it hurts you never told us.”

“When we walked into KU Med and saw his resemblance to Jim, it was _ painful._”

Dean nodded. Damn, could he imagine. 

“What right did I have exposing you to a nearly identical crisis? I cared enough _ not _to put you through more trauma. Can you forgive us?” Hannah pleaded.

“Just don't keep any more secrets. It was hard enough finding out what Jim did.”

Balthazar nodded in understanding, “Of course.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Let's be family like we were meant to be, alright?” 

“We’d like that,” Hannah replied. 

Just then his phone beeped. “That's Sam. I better take off. We’ll have you guys over soon.”

Dean wasn't even on the main road before it blurred from the tears. Texting Sam he’d be home in a few, he then scrolled down his contact list, selecting a number he hadn't dialed in months. 

His calm day had gone down in flames. Yet amongst its ashes was hope. Jim had a brother he never knew. Castiel never knew him either. Dean had Jim’s heart, the heart that would've loved a little brother dearly. So he'd do what Jim couldn't; he would love Castiel and help him know his brother through the heart of the precious soul who waited for them both. 

“Hi Donna, it's Dean Winchester. Something happened today, kind of a lot to process. I could really use your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hazard a guess as to what's up with Cas? The weird dreams? Bizarro blue?
> 
> “You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I’ll always love you. That's where I’ll be waiting.” -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
> 
> **Latin**  
Ad ligandum eos pariter eos coram me// General demon summoning, SPN Wiki
> 
> **Scottish Gaelic**  
Tapadh leat. Bheir mi às a seo e// Thank you. I'll take it from here.


	15. Chapter 15

Sam knew something was off when Dean came home looking like a hangover, if a hangover died and came back. He'd brought in the groceries, giving him a pained, apologetic expression, while answering a call from Donna. Sam was at a loss as to what could've caused this degree of upset, but if Dean was talking to Donna it meant two things. One, it was about Jim. And two, he was in good hands. Even so, Sam hoped his brother would talk to him when ready. 

Jim's death had devastated their family. He and Jo grieved for him like a brother, so their parents got them help. But witnessing the toll his death took on Dean had shaken Sam to his core. Family therapist, Donna Hanscum, was a godsend to the Winchesters, especially Dean. 

~*~*~*~

Two nights later, Castiel texted the truck estimate. Dean could’ve easily texted him to meet and look up the parts together. He wanted to. Spent all his waking hours contemplating the guy’s allure. But he also wanted to make sure it was from the right place.

<< Dean: I can ship the parts there, or here. You could meet my family. 

>> Castiel: Can I bring my best friend? 

<< Dean: Yep. Dads 2. Overnight shipping. Dinner 2morrow?

<< Castiel: Dads have date night. Count on me plus one**. **

He was anxious for his family to meet Castiel, but lacked the emotional energy to repeat all he'd learned. Maybe letting Castiel speak for himself would be better. It’d be a shock, but he knew they’d be happy. Benny wouldn't want to miss something this significant, so Dean made the call. 

Benny was one of the precious few with whom Dean had had a relationship. Some years back, after catching up over a beer in Lawrence one night, they were brutally attacked. Its nature was such, Dean drove four hours to Lebanon begging Sam to find a solution. As Benny recovered, the two discovered a mutual attraction. 

He’d been so incredibly good to Dean. Knowing his history, understanding how difficult it was for him to love again, he worked tirelessly to be deserving of that love every day they were together. Yet, a time came when Benny confronted him about his feelings. He knew Dean loved him. Both were heartbroken when Dean admitted he wasn't _ in _love with him. Benny deserved better. Dean thanked his stars every day the guy was a man of his word, faithfully remaining his best friend. 

~*~*~*~

The boy emanated desperation, with a courageous undercurrent brought forth by something more powerful than time itself. Another presence shifted the room’s tenor. Dozens of eyes blinked at the boy, who blinked right back with curiosity. 

They fluttered at _ him _ ..in.. recognition? How could eyes like these _ know _ him? There was no mistaking the intelligence behind the movements. A voice cut through the silence. 

_ “Tapadh leat. Bheir mi às a seo e.” _

The boy straightened when noting its worn timbre, like fatigue after a tremendously long day. It commanded authority, and the eyes gently closed in dutiful respect, then disappeared.

A man of average height and build entered the room in a leisurely manner. Dark, short hair framed a unique, bearded face the boy was certain he'd remember, but couldn't. The power to bind a demon at will lent to the fair assumption he was no mere mortal. 

_ “Leithid sin bratach mì-chomas. Bodh thu falbh roimhe Ramiel.” _

The demon screamed in terror, the man snapped his fingers with a bored look and it vanished. Turning to the boy, the man froze, raising an eyebrow in wonderment while tucking a hand in his pocket. “Quite the commitment you're offering, for one so young. I wonder if you truly realize the extent of servitude it entails. Name?”

“J-Jim Novak. I want to make a deal. Do I know you?” 

Although a simple yes or no question, the man dithered before answering, “I’ve never met a Jim Novak.”

“Can you help me?”

The man gestured to two chairs which came out of thin air.

“Let’s sit, shall we?”

Jim did so, only out of respect for the pleasantries this man seemed fond of. 

“As it happens, I _ am _ in the position to provide the services you seek.”

Sharp currents coursed through Castiel's hands. Everything was illuminated in blue with stunning detail. He’d no memory of summoning this vile demonic atrocity prancing through his dreams. Fortinbras issued his concerns from the bottom of the stairs.

“It's alright Fort. It's okay, come!” Cas tried. The rescue he'd collected years earlier had proven as much of a headcase as himself. Voyaging upstairs was met with resolute refusal, no matter how his master pleaded. Tonight was no different, despite seeming distraught at not overcoming whatever roadblock prevented him from ascending to administer doggy comfort care. 

Castiel knew if he gazed out through his bedroom window into the night sky, his vision would reach the aura band around each star. Just as easily as when he'd glance upon the fiery, Saturn-like rings surrounding the sun not even modern science could detect. Seeing Dean again made him nervous. His personality was just as Jim described in the journal, which made it very difficult to ignore how incredibly good looking he'd found him, and felt all kinds of guilty over. He hoped to keep a lid on his weird. Castiel would move heaven and earth ensuring this Winchester never discovered how otherworldly he was.

~*~*~*~

Once Sam, Jo, Charlie, and Benny were gathered in the library, wondering what in tarnation had prompted all of Dean's fuss, he excused himself from the room. 

_ I know it'll be a shock, but God I can't wait for Castiel to see how happy they'll be getting to know him, we'll be family, just like it was always meant to be. _

He wandered out front where Castiel and a woman with deep, hershey brown hair and a warm smile, waited. 

“Castiel, how are ya?” 

“Apprehensive,” he spoke and signed in ASL.

Nodding, Dean swiftly signed back with, “Hi I’m Dean. It's great to meet you.”

The woman was pleasantly surprised, as was Castiel. “I’m Eileen, nice to meet you too. Castiel didn't tell me you're fluent in ASL.”

“I was unaware.” Castiel looked impressed.

Dean took them through the kitchen, asking them to wait while he addressed his family.

“Few days ago in Ladow's, I ran into someone. You need to be brought into the loop,” he gestured to a rattled looking Castiel, bringing Eileen with him. 

“Guys, this is, uh, Castiel Novak,” he introduced, “Jim’s brother.”

Sam gasped. Everyone else stared at the poor guy. Jo’s eyebrows furrowed. Charlie’s face froze in shock. Benny, the cool customer he was, merely looked mildly surprised. 

“Holy spaceballs. Is it just me, or...” Charlie timidly asked, when she’d recovered.

“I can assure you this is equally as awkward for me,” Castiel almost whispered. 

Dean immediately realized his royal fuck up. The guy looked ready to bolt. So focused on when his family's shock would turn to happiness, he never considered how his own initial reaction, times four, would affect Castiel. 

Eileen signed, “You didn’t tell them about Castiel?! What were you thinking? This was really unfair to everyone.” 

Dean felt like absolute shit and completely understood her anger.

“Charlie-Jo-Benny, give us a minute?” Sam calmly requested. 

Benny mentioned, “We’ll be in the game room if ya need us. Castiel, I’d appreciate if ya didn't go anywhere. Looking forward to talkin’.”

Cas nodded in Benny's general direction. Sam’s eyes were full of, ‘How could you keep this, _from_ _me?’_

Dean noticed Cas sitting as far away from him as possible, without it appearing juvenile. It really hurt. But he had to say something to Sam; his silence towards him hadn't been fair. He should’ve said _ something. _

“I’m sorry Sammy. I didn't think this through. You're hurt. Castiel is hurt. Eileen, you're angry and I don't blame you,” Dean signed in apology. 

Sam merely indicated they’d have a fun sit down later, then politely spoke to Cas and Eileen.

“Castiel. I’m Sam. I didn't know Jim had a brother, but I'm really glad to meet you. And if this miscalculation on my brother's part hasn't ruined things tonight, we’d really like to learn about you,” he pleaded, “and Eileen, this means you too.”

Eileen smiled back, willing to give Sam a second chance. Then Castiel spoke up.

“My brother cared for all of you, I’m glad the feeling was mutual. But I'm not him and I’m sorry my presence causes distress.” 

“You're not him. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re family. I hope you’ll give us a chance,” Sam offered.

His demeanor suggested he was fighting against the strong inclination to leave. It was evident he'd suffered emotional trauma of some kind. 

“My dads have told me about all of you. You may not find me as agreeable as my brother. But if someone finds it too difficult, I’ll understand.”

“I appreciate that,” Sam relaxed.

Dean apologized again, “I was so focused on how happy my family was gonna be. But it was an asshole move, I’m sorry.”

“If you plan on introducing me to anyone else who knew Jimmy, I’d appreciate you warning them. Otherwise, I’m met with the same enthusiasm as a failed resurrection. It’s unpleasant seeing the disappointment when I’m not the person people loved and lost,” Cas explained.

“You're not a disappointment,“ Sam replied,” I'm so happy to meet you.” 

_“_Thank you, Sam. I feel the same,” Eileen conveyed.

Something was in the air between them, Dean could feel it, but this wasn't the time for light hearted ribbing.

“You said 'dads’, do I know them?” Sam wondered.

Yes. A few years after my brother, social services contacted Hannah. He and Balthazar adopted me,” Cas informed. 

The biggest smile spread across Sam’s face. “Hannah! Here? That's great! I’d really love to see them again. I have so many questions, but you probably don't want to repeat yourself. Would you mind me calling the others back in?”

“It’s alright.”

“I’ll get’em.” Dean scurried off to the game room.

Despite his apologies, they seemed more worried about Castiel. Conversation flowed with increasing ease back in the library, however, Castiel remained tense. Jo eventually left for work, saying her heartfelt goodbyes. Benny was curious about how Castiel and Eileen had met. 

“My hearing was damaged as a baby. K.U. Med tried, but couldn't really improve my situation. We became best friends there; in between stays we’d write letters. We both attended K.U., and work together.” 

“Sounds an awful lot like our Charlie,” Benny responded, “in and out, chatting in between stays, lives with her besties and fiancé.”

“Who’s the lucky fiancé?” Eileen asked.

_ “_All these guys are brothers_. My queen _just left to protect Smith County from its Darwin Award recipients,” Charlie smiled with pride.

Dean noticed a flash of relief in Eileen's eyes. 

“That’s an admirable calling. Congratulations. What about the rest of you?”

"I'm on sabbatical til spring, but I'm a Professor of North American Mythology and Folklore at Hastings College,” Sam volunteered.

“That’s a subject Eileen never tires of,” Castiel mentioned in a loaded tone. 

“Oh? I’d be happy to talk with you anytime.” Sam tried to curb his obvious enthusiasm at the idea.

“Let's set a date before I leave then,” she happily agreed, “This is a Men of Letters installation?_ ” _

Sam raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“My grandfather, on my mother's side, was a Man of Letters. Any chance you and Charlie could show me around?”

“Definitely,” they promised.

“We’re legacies too, our Grandpa Henry left it to Dean and I. Our dad’s never been into this stuff, they weren't close so it was an interesting surprise. Now it's home,” Sam stated.

“Benny, what do you do_ ?” _Castiel asked.

“Hematology. Had sickle cell anemia as a child.” 

_ “_Hannah mentioned another friend, really tall?” Castiel asked.

_ “ _Zeke. Last year of college he was working at one of those big hardware chains, had a nice girl he wanted to marry. One night his heart just gave out,” Benny informed. 

_ “ _I'm sorry to hear that,” Castiel offered in sincerity.

A pause hung in the air which Eileen broke with another question. “I’m sorry, you said you _ had _ sickle cell anemia as a child?”

“Aah, yeah.”

“Wasn’t aware there was a cure.” 

_ “ _ No."Benny was unsure how thoroughly he should explain.

Sam tested the waters. “If you're a legacy and have an interest in mythology, do you have an open mind about the paranormal_ ?” _

_ “_I’ve had some convincing experiences. How's it involved with Benny and a cure?”

All but Eileen and Castiel traded glances, silently weighing disclosure. 

Benny ponied up. “Neither Dean nor I believed in monsters. We were headed to our cars one night, I got the brunt of a vampire attack.”

_“_A what_?!” _Castiel started. Eileen hushed him, urging Benny to continue.

_ “_I swear we only had one beer each. But it was an honest to goodness vampire. Tore into my neck, I bled real good. Dean brought me to Sam, hoping he'd find something.”

_“_What did the trick?” Eileen went back and forth from watching Dean translate, to Benny, the riveting storyteller.

_ “_Dead man's blood. Didn't just cure me of vampirism, but the sickle cell anemia too. So if there's any doubt it happened, proof’s in my blood.”

_ “_That's incredible,” Eileen said, thoroughly engaged. 

“How are you so quick to believe this?” Cas asked her, then addressed Benny, “not to discount your injuries or anything, I’m more skeptical. No offense.”

Benny dismissed any offense with a wave. 

_ “_I’ve witnessed things I can't go back from. Things I can’t unsee. I believe you,” Eileen promised.

“Tell me about this place. I’ve driven by plenty of times but assumed it was an abandoned utility structure,” Cas directed elsewhere, a bit rattled. 

Sam grinned the way Dean did any time someone complimented Baby.

“Let’im show you his 'precious’,” Dean suggested with relief.

While embarking on the tour, Sam brought up a strong interest in a case involving a considerable rise in juvenile deaths. Dean had helped with research, but made it abundantly clear he wanted no part in any X Files wannabe bullshit. Thankfully, Eileen volunteered to conduct interviews with Sam. Certain his guests were in good hands, Dean slunk off to start dinner and wallow in misery over his colossal screw up.

When the chow was ready, everyone gathered around the giant war table for the mountains of ribs and fixings, while learning more about Castiel and Eileen.

“I own Sentinel Orchards. With vital help from Eileen of course,” he divulged, smiling at her_ . _

A collective_ “What?!” _ was heard along with a few _ “ooh yum“ _ and _ “that place makes the best honey!” _The family prompted him for particulars with enthusiasm, while Eileen beamed with pride for her best friend. 

“Into sports? Baseball?"Benny wondered.

“Hannah tried, I couldn't get into baseball. But I am a Cowboys fan. Love to toss the old pigskin around.” 

Dean began daydreaming about catch with Castiel, maybe some rowdy nights watching Dallas play. 

_ “_Lemme help with the dishes,” Benny softly offered.

The voice snapped him back to reality. Catch? That had been something between he and Jim. Dean couldn't be sure it sprung from the simple desire to spend time with Castiel, and not some overlay of emotions from his past. What the hell was wrong with him? 

Once in the privacy of the kitchen, they settled into a comfortable routine of washing and drying. When finished, Benny tossed the drying towel over his shoulder and placed his hand over Dean’s. 

“Tell me what's churnin’ around in the belfry; let’s see if it's what I’m picking up,” Benny gently called him out. 

It was both blessing and curse, the man's uncanny ability to correctly surmise what was on Dean's mind. The fact Benny was his ex, by all standards, should’ve made this convo awkward as hell. But he was also his best friend, and if you couldn't confess the most damning things to them, who _ could _ you tell them to? 

“I don't know man,” he whispered.

“I’m gonna take a stab here and say this is you, scared shitless because you're definitely attracted to him, and every kind of conflicted over it. How’d I do, hmm?” Benny laid it all out in the simplest of terms, with zero judgment in his tone. 

Dean's eyes filled with such shame, he could barely lift them to meet Benny’s. 

The lovable guy pulled him into a warm embrace. “It's obvious he’s as drawn to you as you are to him. And if I’ve picked up on it, you can bet your vinyl collection Charlie has too.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Well that's just great.”

Charlie zoomed in with some dirty bowls and serving platters, stopping mid kitchen to kiss Dean's cheek, then continued on her merry way to the sink.

Benny looked downright offended. “Now, how come he gets one and I don't?”

“He needs it right now more than you, Benny Bear. You're secretly discussing what Dean’s gonna do about Castiel. So either pull up a towel and spill or get the hell out, you bozos,” she lovingly chirped. 

“Uh..yes ma’am,” Benny replied, strategically twisting the towel he’d just hung up. 

Dean jumped under the door frame, “Sunovabitch! That's gonna leave a mark!” he cussed at Benny who was bent in a defensive stance, his eyes twinkling in light-hearted mischief as he retwisted the semi-wet towel. “Motherf-”

“A reminder. Don't forget to just have fun Dean,” Benny smiled.

That stealthy towel snap hurt even through his faded Levi’s. He was still rubbing his sore ass when scooting back into the war room full of chatter. 

“Lilian O’Grady, my Godmother, was a hunter. I was raised with a foot in both worlds,” Eileen gestured to the bunker and supernatural weirdness in general.

Right then, Dean knew Sammy's goose was cooked. And they were making heart eyes. Aww shit, it was like one of those uncomfortable TV show moments when people tune everyone else out with how obvious their unspoken feelings were._ Rude _. 

Thankfully Charlie and Benny emerged with pie. 

“Adanac was a nice choice,” Eileen complimented after her first bite of the apple-licious dessert. 

“Kudos to Chef Dean,” Charlie announced, giving credit where credit was due. 

“Saw these at a little fruit stand on Grove and North Chestnut. The variety is outstanding for baking, and holds its flavor well.”

Castiel's head snapped up from a nearly clean plate. He’d been horking it down so fast Dean’s connoisseur-like comment almost hadn't registered. 

“Are you in the habit of researching produce varieties before testing recipes or are you merely an apple enthusiast?” he asked, unable to hide how Dean’s knowledge of the variety had piqued his interest. 

“I may not make the best pie, but I’m gonna research what meets the top baking standards and how to make my family drool for more.” 

“You do extraordinary things to my apples Dean,” Castiel stated nonchalantly, taking his last bite.

“Pfft! Not yet I haven't_._” Dean was so surprised by what flew out of his mouth, he looked like someone kicked him in the junk. “Sorry, humor reflex._” _

All but Castiel were in stitches. He looked around for the missing clue, and when it hit him, he covered his face and moaned. 

“That didn't come out right…” Castiel whined, burying his head in his arms. 

Eileen patted his shoulder while wiping her eyes. 

Charlie assured, “It takes more than that to offend this group.”

“I slip up frequently. My apologies ahead of time,” he forewarned.

“Don't apologize. That was damn funny, “ Benny laughed.

“I’m afraid orchard life starts early. It was great meeting everyone. Thank you for dinner and dessert. Dean, you're an excellent cook,” Cas complimented, sounding like he really meant it. Dean hoped he did, and not just the cooking part.

“You’re both welcome here anytime. So long as you can handle the sass and crass you're golden,“ Charlie promised. 

Although the evening ended on a lighter note than it began, Dean still worried he’d lost Castiel's trust, and any chance at being close with him. 

It was 1:34 am when Dean’s body finally demanded he slow to a brisk, treadmill power walk. Fatigue wrapped itself around him seconds after slowing. A shower was calling. No, screaming. He pounded the last of his water and made his way to the bathrooms, sweat dripping on the floor with every step he took. The shower's hot water felt good soaking into his skin and overworked muscles. 

His mind felt weary, typically guarded walls dropped, allowing daydreams of what it would feel like to have Castiel in the shower with him. Would Blue Eyes want to be gently pushed against the tiled wall? Would he want Dean to lazily press and rub against him while brushing their wet lips together with searing water cascading between them? Or might Castiel prefer Dean to pull him in close under the shower’s spray, coaxing slow, soft moans from his throat, while his tongue tenderly explored his mouth? 

As much as he'd battled against these thoughts, fearful they'd lead to a moment of disastrous weakness, it was safe to give them free reign in the shower. From these few brief visions alone, he could feel the familiar swelling and hardening of delicious need growing between his legs. His hand slid over the taut skin of his stomach, traveling down to lightly graze the hair just beginning to curl from lack of recent manscaping. Following the water's path, he gripped the base of his thickening cock, gently squeezing and twisting. 

Thoughts of Castiel's perfect hands roaming over his stomach and hips, while teasing along his jawline with soft lips, gave him little shivers. Dean wondered what those hands would do with his pliant backside. Would Blue Eyes lightly cup and caress his cheeks, or more aggressively knead them in exquisite torture? He was decidedly in the mood to fantasize torture, and sped up the twisting strokes he'd begun more vigorously thrusting into.

What he wouldn't give for Castiel to pin and mold his entire body against him. Dean longed for the euphoric sensation he imagined would overcome him as Blues Eyes nudged, pressed, and rolled his hard length against his own. The friction would build as he'd reach for Castiel's waist, pulling him even closer, but discover them trapped by firm, iron-like muscles. He'd attempt to protest, but all words would fall silent with the brush of pliant lips and the flick of a tongue. 

The water's temperature and a thick fog of steam swirling around him added to the fantasy, rocketing Dean closer to the crest. His thumb grazed the swollen head of his dick with each urgent stroke. Low puffs of air and nearly silent moans escaped as his mind conjured new visual delights of him rubbing his cock against Castiel's. The two of them furiously pushing and pulling together against the wall in a heated rhythm, until finally gripping each other and stilling, as their cum erupted like white lava between them in simultaneous orgasms. 

Dean chased that fantasy right over the cliff and clenched his jaw in an effort to maintain silence while creamy, thick cum spilled down his hand. Realizing the water was beginning to cool, he caught his breath and rinsed off, but noticed an ache inside. For now, there was no way to tell if Castiel really did have feelings for him. But more than once, Dean was certain the guy had wanted to comfort him. This was the very thing he was aching for, to be held, soothed, and deeply loved. And this was why it was so important his feelings were correctly placed.

He curled into bed, drunk with sleepiness. This could end in the kind of epic disaster he feared most. Or, he could finally push beyond that fear, take the chance if Castiel seemed willing, and potentially find the home for which his heart had yearned, but also guarded itself against for the past twenty years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Dean done fucked up. Will Cas give him a second chance? And what did Jim get himself into!!!
> 
> **Scottish Gaelic**  
Leithid sin bratach mì-chomas. Bodh thu falbh roimhe Ramiel//Such flagrant disobedience. You will go before Ramiel.


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning, Dean busied himself after his first cup of coffee with some calls, including the local hospice agency under which he was now employed. Thankfully, they had a shift starting that afternoon. He spent the morning ironing his scrubs, checking his nursing bag, organizing his charting documents, and adding his new patient’s medical history. Throwing on a green shirt adorned with the likeness of an infamous fairy, he heard a knock at his door.

“Yeah, come in.”

He registered the minute shift in his faithful friend's demeanor. Benny had always exuded an unstated fondness for Dean's selection in his fields' attire. The initial caution he wore when entering turned into pleasant confidence as he cut to the chase. “Was gonna ask if you've figured anything out, never finished talking last night.

Looking down at the floor; he was no less conflicted.

Benny softly comforted, “This is human nature Dean. He bears the likeness and sound of the only person you’ve truly been in love with. Ain't exactly a reach to understand why you'd be attracted to him."

He paused, placing a gentle hand against his chest. "This heart of yours is always filled with the best intentions. I don't like watching you tear yourself up over something you can't control. He is not _ your _ brother.”

“But I should be like his brother! It _ should _ be in my control. This is humiliating!”

Benny sat in the desk chair, leaning forward, ready to hear him out.

“Castiel doesn’t need a defective boyfriend. He deserves his brother. I’m trying to be as good as the one he lost, I shouldn't have these feelings. It's not fair to him.” 

“Not fair to _ him_?!” Benny said in a tone that meant he was just winding up.

“The man couldn’t take his eyes off ya. Near as I can tell, he thinks you hung the harvest moon. You want to be ‘fair’? Don't decide for him who you should be, cause God’s honest, Dean…” he professed, holding up both hands, “Castiel wasn’t lookin' at you in no brotherly fashion. 

“I’m not that-, I can't hurt him Benny. Look what happened to us, and I love you. Always will,” Dean admitted, still burdened with guilt.

Benny tenderly held Dean’s face. “There’s nuthin’, past or present I’d ever want to change. Just cause I wasn't 'the one’ for ya doesn't mean someone else isn't. But shutting off, making the choice for him? Only makes it certain neither of you find out.”

Benny dithered a moment then added, “Maybe _ he _ feels like _ you _ deserve better than his broken self. Won't learn unless ya get better acquainted."

“Alright."

Benny’s spidey senses were rarely wrong. And no matter what, the guy always had his best interests at heart. 

“I'm gonna look at the coroner's reports Jo left for me this afternoon, see if anything was overlooked in the blood work, then head back home. You alright?” 

“Yeah, I'm good. I'll let you know what happens. Thanks for coming, for everything.”

~*~*~*~

Dean was in the garage heading for Baby when his brother pulled in, with Eileen in tow. Sam grew agitated when he saw Dean. His arms were filled with bizarre shit like he'd raided the Ministry of Magic set from Harry Potter, as he waddled over to speak. 

“Dammit Dean, you have one more week of vacation. We talked about this. Slower pace, fewer hours?” 

“Hey Eileen, nice to see you again. Productive day?” Dean asked. 

_ “_Very,” she smiled back. 

“Dean, come on. One more week. Let’s have a beer and talk about this,” Sam begged.

“Maybe when I get back. Right now I'm gonna hang out with a new kiddo. We'll sit down later. You can also tell me what you learned today, alright?”

Sam wasn't alright, but there was no changing Dean's mind. With a resigned _ “Fine” _he hauled the myriad of weird looking papers and map canisters inside the bunker with Eileen. 

Despite his nonchalant attitude regarding Sam's case, Dean suspected something was off as the death toll continued to rise. But he couldn't do anything about it right now, nor could he do anything about Castiel. Even if he hadn't asked for this patient, he couldn't resolve things with his brother, because was Eileen there. So he did what he could by helping a little girl forget the burden of her fate for a little while.

Later that evening in the quiet of Dean's room, he braved a look at Jim's journal. Donna suggested going easy at first, so he decided in the spirit of their old confession game, he'd stick to two entries a night. 

Dean pulled out the leather bound journal from his desk drawer. He observed how easily it fell open, the spine having become increasingly flexible over the years from repetitive digestion. The first pages had some doodles around the margins and a few dated lines. 

** _January 1995:_ **

_ No clue what to write. Who the hell am I writing to? This feels completely mental. Whatever. Maybe when something happens worth writing about... _

Then on the third page, 

** _March 1995:_ **

_ Holy shit. Today I met the most beautiful boy I've ever seen in my entire life. His name is Dean. The guy's pissed about his heart. He's lucky to still have his parents though. God, I miss my Mom. Really, I miss her and Dad a lot. _

_ Something's different about this guy. It's like I can feel his emotions. I don't know how. We played catch and he was super happy about that, well, about me and the game. Hope he finds a heart. But if he doesn't, I'm 100% sure he has mine. Seriously. I'm in love. This guy is _ _ GREAT. _ _ Craziest thing about today? I can actually feel that Dean loves me back.” _

Dean sat at his desk, processing the journals entries. They stirred his emotions, like when finding out your crush likes you and he smiled at Jim's words. Something he never thought he'd do again. 

~*~*~*~

Four whole days with no word from Castiel. He was going crazy not knowing if he'd permanently fucked things up, or if the guy really planned on giving him a second chance. 

He and Sam had sorted their crap out. Learning about Castiel had overwhelmed everyone. It was a relief for things between them to be normal again. 

Day five arrived, when Dean trudged through the chilly library clutching his coffee, Sam and Eileen were frantically buzzing around the cluttered War room. He felt low key attacked as Sam grabbed his wrist, tugging him to the massive table, which at 6:43 am looked akin to the bowels of insanity. 

“Hey!” he gruffed in a scandalized tone, aggressively reclaiming his wrist.

“C'mere. Eileen found a pattern in the locations. We're contacting the families we've interviewed again.”

Dean considered manic Sammy an imperial pain in his ass. Looking at him in disapproval, he turned and signed, “Morning Eileen. Sleep at all?”

She returned a tiny smile, yawned, and shook her head.

“Sam I think it's time we switch your No-Doz for Unisom. Put the caffeine down and back away from the table, real slow like.”

Rolling his eyes Sam implored, “I’m serious Dean, she's found something. For nearly every family we've interviewed so far, there's a correlating location nearby known as a Crossroads. Each child died of a heart attack, stroke, or aneurysm.”

“Aww c’mon, it’s way too early for this crap. I don't know, man. Maybe this just isn't our problem,” Dean whined. 

“You're kidding me, right?”

“Ugh, geometry and I? We never made nice. What's so special about intersecting roads? And when was your last dose of sunlight and fresh air?” 

Gesturing to the miles of books, Sam deadpanned, “They don't let me out often.” 

Dean pounded some liquified grounds. 

“That's where deals go down. Deals with demons,_ ” _his brother grumbled in minor frustration.

Sam was becoming increasingly agitated but took a deep breath. “I get this isn't your bag, some of these books here are pretty dry. Dammit, I wish you'd read the Supernatural series I found, you'd-”

Dean kicked his feet up on the next chair. “Ah. Here's the wind up for the pitch-” 

“God-nevermind, just- kids, have initiated deals, sold their souls. Part of the ritual requires summoning at a crossroads.”

“Hold on-how’d kids even know it's an option, or that it would even work? The hell kind of parenting is this?” 

“These people are decent parents and guardians, devastated by their loss. Nothing so far indicates dangerous religious or cult-like practices,” Eileen offered.

“Then how are kids accessing the correct ingredients to summon, or even learn about the idea?” 

“We’re not sure yet,” Eileen conveyed, “I've checked older maps of northern Kansas. A few nearby schools, churches, hospitals, and a library, were built directly over what used to be a crossroads.”

“You sure it's kids summoning, not city developers pulling shady crap?”

“With these cities developing so many decades apart it's unlikely. But the death count we've waded through with this one commonality, it can't be a coincidence.”

“What’s your plan, should you 'pin the tail on the demon’? Call a priest to exorcise it? That takes months, pending their own investigations.”

Sam failed to curb his enthusiasm, animatedly explaining, “I've found a few exorcism rituals, we have most of the ingredients. We'll trap and exorcise it, then exorcise as many others as we can. Saving some's better than saving none.”

“Do I need to revoke your Hogwarts library card? Have you both lost your minds?” Dean tried sounding less angry and far more genuinely concerned, but what. the. actual. fuck. 

“If 'hunter’ us in those other books you won’t shut up about can't even manage the 'over there’ demons, what in the hell makes you think 'Scarecrow and Mrs. King’ over here,“ he said gesturing to them both, “will survive against something racking up the body count like Jonestown was just a practice run, huh?”

They patiently allowed Dean's well founded objections be made.

“Eileen, you have some experience with spooky. I'll give you that. I won't lose Sam, and I won't lose you. Isn't there a 'Hunters R’ Us’ network? People who take these things out full time?”

“What do you think the Men of Letters is, Dean?” Sam scoffed.

“Yeah well, it ain't exactly a pro ball career.’”

“Pretty sure we know what we're dealing with here. I can't sit on my hands with this.”

“This is some dark crap, alright? Reading published speculation on how to play Ghostbusters without getting slimed doesn't qualify anybody to take on this level of bad, Sam! Please, don't start any of that summoning juju.” 

His phone buzzed with a text notification.

<<Castiel**: **So what’s your area of nerdgasm?

Dean was at a momentary loss, but his chest did that hug-like squeeze around his heart, relieved five days of radio silence had been broken.

>>Dean: What now?

_ The hell's he texting at...oh. Orchard time. _

<<Castiel: In the weird basement, Sam and Eileen nerded out over everything in those metal baskets. Your thing too?

Oh. _ Oh boy. _

“Sorry guys. Gotta take this,” he errantly explained.

Sam gritted his teeth in frustration, but Eileen tiredly smiled at him. Dean hoped she'd apply her diligent tendencies in convincing his brother to find another way of saving these kids.

As he left, Dean chuckled at Sam’s attempt in ASL to offer her breakfast, calling her a bitch by mistake. Shuffling down the hall towards his room, he resumed texting.

>>Dean**: **Classic cars, obviously. Also a wild west enthusiast.

<<Castiel: You could tell me about it sometime if you want.

Yes. Yes, he did want.

>>Dean: Free today. Wanna grab a beer? Soda? 

<<Castiel: Burgers?

>>Dean: I’m a fan.

<<Castiel: Crossroads Bar & Grill over in Downs. High Noon?

Isn't that adorable. He couldn't help the grin spreading across his face at the turn of events. 

>>Dean: I'll be there.

~*~*~*~

Downs was a stone's throw from Lebanon, and the Crossroads was a hole in the wall in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. In Dean’s experience, these spots had the most character. Entering, he found Castiel sitting at a table in a corner. 

“How are you managing with all this?” Castiel asked with genuine hope in his voice.

“Still wrapping my head around everything, I’ll be fine,” Dean assured him. Inevitably, in the process of getting to know him, there’d be times he’d have to take a knee. 

“Will you?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.

Case and point. Dean tried not reacting to the Jim-like gesture, allowing the nostalgia and ensuing emotions to wash over him. Although something, maybe a wince, must’ve alerted Castiel. Guilt spread across his face. Dean saw the guy’s hand reaching, almost as if to comfort, but it quickly disappeared under the table instead.

“I'm aware of how much we resemble each other. I’ve tried changing so people who knew him don't get upset-”

“Cas-Castiel, don't _ ever _ change. Being Jim's brother is only part of who you are. There are ways I can already tell you’re a different person. I wanna know who that is.”

Castiel stared with heated intensity, seemingly enraptured by his words.

“Meeting you has brought back some good memories. We each share parts of him, maybe some of the best parts. We’re lucky to carry him with us.”

Alrighty. That was a lot of sharing and caring with someone he barely knew.

“What's good here? Gimme some recommendations,” he prompted, changing the subject to food.

The Texas Wrangler burger was recommended, so that's exactly what Dean ordered, and then asked about the land Hannah and Jim's family owned.

Cas was pleased with Dean's interest. “Hannah's parents left their property to him and Jim. He never required a full forty acres. So when I graduated from K.U. he offered me ninety-five percent of the property.”

“Wow! That's generous.”

“He and Balthazar knew it’d give me a great head start, so I turned a majority of it into an orchard. They kept a couple of acres for themselves to build their dream home.”

“Cas, your home is seriously beautiful. The land is really perfect.”

“Took tremendous work getting the soil ready, but after a few years the business took off. It's modest by comparison. The work is never ending, but I'm content with how it's thrived. Especially my hives.” 

“I love the creamed honey, always put it on my pancakes. Guess that means you're responsible for giving me some of the best breakfasts ever.”

“I haven't even bought you dinner yet,” Cas smart assed. “I can make you breakfasts you couldn't conjure in your wildest dreams. My peach scones are out of this world.” 

Dean scrambled for a platonic way of interpreting what he'd just let fly. That attempt was thwarted by visions of whipped cream and peaches amidst a messy, obscene, kitchen table fucking over the aforementioned breakfast. 

Was he supposed to laugh it off? Ignore it? 

Looking up from his plate, he could've sworn Cas's ears were the deepest shade of scarlet he'd never seen. Dean needed to be certain of his intent before returning fire, possibly making a complete ass of himself. 

“You sell baked goods made from your orchard too? Or you just like to cook?” he asked.

“Just like to cook, I save the baked goods for the most important people,” Cas stated, looking anywhere but in Dean’s direction.

“I won't turn down an offer to have breakfast cooked for me, especially one fresh from the backyard.”

“I'd like that,” was Cas's response. His eyes pierced through to Dean’s soul. “So what about the wild west captures your interest?” 

Oh _ now _ he brings up a subject involving guns and Stetson-wearing dudes who can ride something huge between their legs like nobody's fucking business.

“What doesn't? The guns, rifles, revolvers,” he drawled. 

Cas smirked. “Can you shoot any of those?”

“Yup. My dad's a retired sheriff, grew up around guns. You?”

“No. Not a bad skill to have though.” 

“I can teach you sometime.”

Cas brightened in anticipation. “I’d be amenable to that.”

Blue eyes and firearms, now that would be an unforgettable afternoon. Hot damn.

“Then there's the idea of carving a life for oneself from new territory that's pleasant to think about. Working on the land, getting whatever you put into a hard days work. It's honest, pure.”

An amazing calm settled over Cas, as if every muscle in his body finally relaxed. “I've made my career on subscribing to that theory. It's back breaking work, but incredibly rewarding. You're welcome to visit any time. Do you ride?”

Dean was mesmerized by Cas's contentedness with his work, how relaxed he'd become. “Ride what?” 

“Horse, cowboy, tractor, all of the above?”

Dean gripped the table’s edge. Did Cas really think he'd miss option number two?

“Two of those I have, I'll let you figure out which ones.” He hoped his inner hyperventilating thirteen-year-old girl wasn't showing.

“I can teach you sometime.”

“To ride which?” 

“All of the above,” was Cas's cool reply.

The conversation had gone from delicate to shy, then relaxed, to pretty goddamn interesting. Dean happened to cross his legs at that moment, hoping to alleviate the tightening front of his faded 501's. Inadvertently scraping against a wooden spoke of the wagon wheel supporting the table top, a few good sized splinters embedded themselves just above his knee cap. He did his best to squelch the pained reaction, which ironically sounded _ exactly _ like a hyperventilating thirteen year old girl. Awesome. No turning back now. Sink or swim time. 

“I’d be amenable to that.” He recycled the line, tossing out a dash of smolder.

Something in Cas's demeanor changed. His confidence increased. It suited him and gave Dean goosebumps. 

“I'm always home working in my office or outside, among the groves as it were,” he informed Dean.

“Took a few weeks off to move here, but I'm back to work now. It's only per diem though, I can make my own schedule. Whenever you want to hang out just let me know.”

“I will,” Cas agreed.

“Headed over to your dads’, something I wanted to show them, all of you.” He hadn't planned on visiting that day specifically, but things were going so well, he figured why not?

Cas walked Dean to his car. “Need to check on a few things at home, how about I meet you over there?” 

As he hopped in Baby, Dean struggled with admitting even to himself how unbelievably twitterpated he was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No joke, look up Crossroads Bar & Grill on Google Maps and look up the street view. If that doesn't look like the kind of Crossroads Crowley's dreams are made of I don't know what is. Couldn't believe my eyes when I found it while looking for a hole-in-the-wall spot for a burger date. I always try to use real places in Lebanon and nearby when writing, so it's definitely real.


	17. Chapter 17

Cas had loaned him Jim's journal. In turn, Dean hoped an item sentimental to him would bring comfort. Hannah greeted him, pleasantly surprised.

“Is Balthazar around?” 

“He's seeing PM patients this week at the clinic.”

“I was gonna leave this with you guys, he can see it later.” 

Hannah was inquisitive as Dean placed a blue and green album between them on the spacious kitchen counter. Its clear front sleeve had remained empty for nineteen years. 

“Jim's 'In Case I Survive’ list threw me for a loop, especially when reading the items he'd added later without me knowing.”

Dean noted how calm Hannah appeared, and continued.

“After getting better, I realized he could still do all of those things because he gave me the part of himself I loved most. Every year I've crossed a few things off that list we've done _ together._” 

Dean slid the album over to Hannah, whose face was blank, perhaps with shock. “Never had a picture to put on the front. Nothing else seemed right,” Dean confessed.

Hannah bravely opened the album. On the inside of the cover was Jim's handwritten list tucked safely inside a clear sheet protector.

The very first picture was a selfie of seventeen-year-old Dean sitting in the driver's seat of Baby, leaning against the door with his left elbow casually draped over the open window. The occasion should've been a happy one, but he only gave a wistful smile to the camera, holding his brand new driver's license. The line said # 6-_ Take a ride in Baby when Dean gets his license. Missing my shotgun rider. _

The second, a heartwarming scene in a beautiful forest with Ellen, John, Dean, Sam, and Jo sitting around a campfire at dusk, roasting marshmallows. Its caption read # 14- _ Go camping. _

The third showed a section of a rollercoaster. Dean pointed himself out among several people. It was one of those photos taken automatically by the rides’ sensors when each passenger was screaming their head off or puking their guts up. The caption said # 23- _ Ride a scary roller coaster/ Six Flags St. Louis. The Ninja-sweet ride. _

Hannah took his time looking through the photos, letting his tears flow freely. Dean found himself close to shedding a few of his own. 

Some of the pictures were pretty funny. Like the one of twenty-eight-year-old Dean holding a large, golden tarantula. He wore a combination of terror and extreme displeasure. The caption below read # 26- _ Protest the live insect trade/Live Insect and Reptile Exposition _

_ Species: Arizona Blonde _

_ Nogales, Arizona 2006- FUCK YOU JIM. _

Dean was rejuvenated, seeing Hannah laughing and crying, even stating it would've been Jim's favorite photo. 

Other pics were simply very touching. He noted Hannah really liked the one of he and Sam standing near the edge of the railing at the Grand Canyon. Listed below was #12- _ Visit the Grand Canyon, Cross country bro trip for Sammy's graduation. _

Dean could see Hannah was also very pleased with the one of eighteen-year-old Dean on the front porch swing at sunset, contentedly holding a dark-skinned beauty with thick ringlets of deep brown hair framing her lovely face. A light had returned to his eyes. Something was still missing, but anyone could see from the photo he deeply cared for the smiling girl in his arms. Below, was written #27-_ Be brave, fall in love again. _

“That's Cassie, my high school girlfriend. She… she was really great. Being with her helped me,” Dean offered. 

“When Jim asked that I give you the list, it was his way of tempting you out of a dark place. My brother was wise beyond his years. By giving you his heart, he made sure you'd live long. By giving you this list, he hoped you'd live _ well_. And you did. You are.”

Dean quietly acknowledged his words, but didn’t feel like saying anything.

“I can see there were some rough times, but he was with you. You honored your promise and honored me by making the most of my brother's gift. Thank you so much,” Hannah emphasized his sentiments with a hug. 

Sharing the album had been taxing, but he was now glad for it. Hannah excused himself, then returned with something for Dean. 

“I didn't find this right away. Assumed you had a copy when it turned up inside his bug box. It'd be a good fit for the album cover.”

He carefully took what Hannah offered, quietly gasping when he got a good look. With a shaky voice, he confessed, “I-I, uhm, gonna need a minute.”

Realization hit hard and fast. It’d been twenty years since he'd seen the boy whose face he'd dreamt of, cried thousands of times over, and clung to every shred of memory. A perfect moment had been captured. The photo blurred as tears spilled down his cheeks. 

Time had rendered Dean's memory of his face a little fuzzy, but he remembered that day so well. The Fourth of July had been one of their happiest. Both wore their baseball caps, and Jimmy's lips were bluish from the sugar free flavored snow cones. 

He remembered wanting to kiss him, wondering what his lips tasted like. Dean’s pale face was pure laughter, and Jim was smiling back at him so radiantly, he'd never felt more loved by anyone. And even though seeing this boy twenty years later was an emotional shock, Dean never felt more happy for having experienced that love.

“Sorry, haven't seen a picture of him for two decades. But really, this is awesome. Thank you.” 

The tiny gift held a world of significance, as did the album. He’d never stop loving Jim. But seeing how very young they were in the picture, made that time in Neverland seem even further away. It also brought the present into sharper focus. 

“Did Cas say he was comin’ over?”

“Tiniest hiccup over there and he loses track of time like you wouldn't believe. Feel free to pull him away from the wild,” Hannah suggested in amusement.

Minutes later he gazed over the orchard gate, spotting Cas in the distance, pushing a bright yellow wheelbarrow towards the back patio. Dean waved, his heart went pitter patter when receiving one back. Why not help a guy out? 

Just then, an enormous dog emerged from the barn, running. Its charge was silent, save for the clinking of its tags as it gunned for him. Dean froze. The beast resembled hungrier Hercules from ‘The Sandlot’. Fight or flight kicked in. He tore back to the sliding glass doors helter-skelter to escape becoming a blood bag chew toy. 

His back was shoved against the glass door by one hundred and eighty pounds of drooling mastiff. Opening an eye, he was relieved his face hadn't been ripped off. Perhaps the behemoth only charged to pin and peer into his soul with puppy eyes. Apparently today was not the day he'd be eaten by a pet the size of a wildebeest. 

“Down! Fort! Get down, now! Are you alright? Dammit Fort DOWN!” Cas hollered, running to them both.

The dog's huge paws remained against Dean's chest; but he looked back at Cas, grumbling loudly as if saying, “Awh Gee Pops, I don't wanna!”

“Down!” Cas forcefully harped.

Doggo let out a full fifteen seconds of the most pathetic, multi-toned and multi-pitched, disgruntled bitch fit that either man had ever heard. During the obscene protest, the pupper leaned most of his weight against him, slumping down across his feet in a heap. 

Cas had stilled, regarding his dog in complete shock.

“Is this bipolar Cujo, or did you kidnap Hagrid's dog?”

“Fang was a Neapolitan Mastiff. Fortinbras is English. I'm completely stunned, Dean. He's never done that to _ anyone_. He's a rescue, terrified of his own shadow.”

Emphasizing he meant no harm, Fortinbras displayed his belly in the ultimate behavior of canine submission. Scrunching his body to one side and curling his paws to his chest, he dramatically issued a remorseful whine.

“This is the most he’s ever communicated since I adopted him. He _ likes _ you.” 

“I’m a likable guy,” admitted Dean in playful confidence, ”Fortinbras, Shakespeare or Wrinkle In Time?”

“Wrinkle In Time. My favorite book.”

“A patchwork family embarking on a perilous rescue mission through dimension and space, upon learning from unlikely allies their loved one, thought to be lost, could possibly be saved,” Dean comically droned in The Movie Guy’s voice, “I question anyone’s taste who doesn’t think that’s a great story.”

Cas grinned widely, “Glad you think so.”

Dean noticed the overturned wheelbarrow. “Alright Charles Wallace, you done plowing the back forty? Let's bring that stuff in,” he chimed, referencing the highly intelligent boy in the book possessing a mystical awareness of his environment. 

Cas stood, leaving Fort bereft of cuddles, and paused with a bizarre expression as if having a surprising internal conversation. His voice was uneven when he spoke, as if completely unsure of what he was saying. 

“Interesting nickname. I suppose it's better than Wonder Bread,” he muttered questioningly.

Dean was momentarily paralyzed, icy pins and needles rippling across his skin when registering what he'd said. Wonderbread? What. The. Shit. That was what he'd called Jim. How did Cas know that? Could Jim have written about it in his journal? Cas seemed equally mystified.

“Everything okay out here?” Dean wondered, needing a rapid change in subject.

“Sorry. My bee guy personally delivered the new queens. Should've had them weeks ago, and I've needed to get a jump on winter hive prep. Replacing queens and merging hives aren't as simple as changing out a car battery.”

“Tell me about it sometime?”

Cas nodded, pleased by his interest. He opened the sliding glass door for Dean and Fort, who immediately trotted in, settling on his massive bed. 

“There's something I'd like to show you,” Cas posed with great care, “would you like to see Jim's room?”

The day had already been unexpectedly emotional, why not marinade in it? “Sure.”

Question shone in Cas's eyes. Dean appreciated it but assured, “I'm good Cas, lead the way.” 

The stairway opened up to a large, A-frame bedroom, reminiscent of a cool attic hideout. Posters of Journey and Duran Duran decorated the room. Above a desk hung the case from Hannah, displaying all of Jim's bugs. The space was a harmonious blend of Jim and Cas, a blanket to wrap himself in for a while. 

Cas pulled something out of the desk and placed it in Dean's hands.

“I need a shower. If this isn't already too much,” whirling his finger in the air to include the room, ”you might enjoy looking through this.”

Dean saw a photo album, smaller than his own he'd shared with Hannah earlier. On the cover, an adorable boy of five or six years, was held tightly in between a mother and father, all three exuding joy. He easily determined this was Jimmy, soon after he'd been adopted. 

“Go ahead,” he said with a suddenly dry mouth. The thought of Cas being stark naked, covered in hot water mere feet away from where he sat, snapped his attention to the present.

Forcing focus on visions of _ not _ naked Cas, he flipped through the album. Jimmy's smile illuminated each photo. Strange, how many winged buggies made their way into the frames. The last few photos were of his fourteenth birthday. He and Hannah blew out the candles, Jim was becoming gaunt with illness. The remaining photos were of Cas, with Hannah and Balthazar. 

Dean saw the progression of Cas's disparaging mental state from the first pictures after transplant, to him gradually becoming a happier, healthier individual. The cause no doubt was the evident involvement, love, and care from Hannah and Balthazar. 

Several camping and hiking trips were made so he could enjoy nature, needing to quietly reconnect with the world in his own time, surrounding himself with trees, rivers, waterfalls, and all manner of living things. They'd helped him create fantastically complex science projects, including the acquisition of hives. Some photos also showed young Cas and Eileen hanging out, it was cool seeing such a timeline. 

Yet, Dean pondered on pictures existing before Hannah and Balthazar. Did he have any? The alarming gap between Jim's _ mostly _ happy childhood and Cas's improving young adulthood had him on edge.

“Dean?” Cas issued. “Shit, sorry. Thought they might help fill in some blanks; honestly, I didn't mean to upset you.” 

As Dean looked up, the full force of Cas's allure hit him. A few wet locks escaped their haphazard placement, falling and curling in front of his forehead, like an even better looking Clark Kent. The eyes, _ oh hell _ his eyes, they were practically glowing a pale shade of blue.

His emotions were raw and intense. But Cas's calming presence beside him prompted at least an elementary conversation. “Not, it's not-”

Cas took the album and sat beside him. 

“Jim's not the one I'm upset about. Your childhood pictures aren't here. I know you were adopted by Hannah and Balthazar, but what happened before you met them? Where are _ your _ pictures?”

Cas had given him the album with only the most benevolent intentions. He looked horrified, his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. 

“My birth mother gave me away, two families almost adopted me but changed their minds. I was dropped off at the hospital for a few years until my dads were called. I never had Kodak moments like everyone else.”

Dean was floored. “What?! TWO families? Jesus Cas! Who the hell does that?” he cried, barely above a whisper, “And you were sick the whole time. How- I don-” 

He’d spent two decades mourning what _ could _ have been for Jim. It surprised him how fiercely he now raged over what _ should _have been for Cas. “I can't believe this. You deserved so much better.”

Cas's reaction to his words reflected complete dismay. Nothing had prepared the guy for such care and concern over _ him. _It drove home, even more, how very unimportant, how unworthy of love he'd been made to feel by those families who'd returned him, like customers dissatisfied with a purchase. Dean was about to explain how much he already meant to the Winchesters, when Cas's lips were on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well...methinks Dean bean was caught offguard a little! Should he let go for a change and try for some happiness?


	18. Chapter 18

A kiss was the last thing Dean expected. Just as his brain was flooded with blissful sensations from smooth lips, warm hands, and the scent of apples and honey, Cas quickly pulled away.

“Oh. I-sorry. Goddammit! I just ruined this didn't-?” 

But the apology was never finished because Dean's fingers curled around the fistful of shirt he'd grabbed, pulling him back into a kiss. The other hand, not death gripping his shirt held and caressed his face, soothing away worries that the first kiss had been unwelcome. 

Dean's lips lightly swept and pressed against Cas's mouth in careful rhythm, slowing the tenor of the first kiss. Dean skimmed along the seam of his mouth delicately, his tongue cautiously requesting entrance.

He reveled in the deepening kiss, his hands grew more confident, embracing the man he'd tried not falling for. Yet here he was, falling hard and fast, back on the bed, soon to be half of a whole tangled mess involving arms, legs, and hard-ons. 

“Wait! What are we doing? This is wrong. It has to be wrong, right?” Cas pulled away from Dean. 

It all spilled forth like one long sentence from someone conflicted, yet asking permission with a glimmer of hope. At least that's how it sounded to Dean. 

“I've been fighting this since we met. If you don't want it, say the word. But this can't be a hookup or a friends with benefits thing. I want _ you. _ If you're not okay with that, I'll make the 'just friends, and only friends’ thing work.” _ It might actually kill me, but I'll do it. _

“How could anyone only want a hookup with you? I tried not to have feelings for you, it’s still strange because of Jim. But I want _ you _ too.” 

“I think Jim would want us to be happy. At least give it an honest try,” Dean offered. 

Cas's response was to crush his lips once more against Dean's with far more urgency than the previous kisses. His tongue passionately explored, while his hands grasped the back of Dean's shirt, pulling him even closer. 

As Dean crawled on top without breaking the kiss, knees eagerly fell open allowing him to comfortably rest his weight in between them, and that's when the fireworks began. He adored the beautiful feeling of warm skin on skin, wrapped up with someone special. But there were times when frotting, especially with the starchiness of jeans providing delicious friction, was so under appreciated it should be a crime. 

With one arm cradling Cas’ head, softly curling fingers through dark hair, and the other moving over his right hip to grab a handful of incredibly sumptuous ass, Dean began grinding his hips downward, then forward in slow, delicious torment. Both gasped at the intense sensation which momentarily took their breath away. 

Despite having engaged in a jerk off marathon over the last several days, Dean became frustrated with his body's seeming lack of endurance. 

In fact, with what Cas seemed to be packin’ down there he breathlessly halted all movement. “I can't. I gotta, gotta take a breather. Sorry.” 

Dean felt Cas immediately still.

“Is it your heart? Are you okay?” 

Thank God his heart hadn't been the issue, hadn't for years. “I'm good. Too good actually. I don't wanna come just yet.”

“Hmm, I'm fine either way. You're a really good kisser.”

What could Dean really say to that? Not much, since Cas had his lips engaged in a modest pace meant to cool his jets, yet keep him in the game. Then once more, he pulled away, to Dean's disappointment, but for an important subject.

“Hate breaking the mood, but since we've dialed it down, have you been tested recently?” Cas queried.

“Yeah, every six months. Not that I'm _ super _ active but still,” he explained, fishing for the paper in his wallet. He gave it to Cas and pulled him up off the bed, tugging him towards the stairs.

Once in the master bedroom, Cas returned it to him with a nod and pulled a file from his top dresser drawer for him to verify. Satisfied with the results; the paper ended up who-cares-where. 

Dean felt his shirt pulled up, off, and he paused, observing the eyes transfixed on what he knew would take a second to sink in. Exquisitely bestowed upon his chest and across his ribs, down to Dean's hips, were two sets of absolutely gorgeous angel wings. 

The mind blowing talent behind such realism had an extensive background in ornithology, specifically anatomy and physiology. The first pair of scapula blades slightly extended outwards allowing the carpal joints to naturally slope downwards were wings at rest, as opposed to the secondary pair behind, extended outward for flight.

A blade, one looking so incredibly real, had been inked directly over his scar. Its grip and pommel differed from any blade or sword Castiel had ever seen. It seamlessly transitioned into edge, ridge, and pointed downward, stopping sharply above Dean's belly button. While Cas admired the spectacular ink, Dean grew increasingly uncomfortable under his intense stare. 

Benny was the only person who'd understood from the second he'd laid eyes on the wings, that Dean hadn’t commissioned it for anyone but himself. Out of respect for the precious significance behind the artistry, Benny had withheld his compliments for a very long time. 

He was about to reclaim his shirt when Cas held his face. Infinite pools of blue conveyed respect, admiration, and awe. Dean relaxed a little, thankful for zero comments as to the quality of the workmanship, or Jimmy in general. 

They fell back into a slow foreplay; while Cas kissed him with breathtaking skill, his fingers ran along any and all exposed skin. He wrapped an arm around the small of Dean's back, running his thumb up and down the base of his spine. 

He felt a pull onto the comfortable bed, then a hand grazed over his tummy, wandering in a southerly path to delicately cup and rub the already hard length straining against the buttons. Cas pressed against the jeans only enough for Dean to barely register the sensations. 

“Be clear with me Dean,” he seductively insisted, increasing the pressure and speed with which he was gripping and cupping him in enticement. 

Dean was unable to provide a ‘clear’ response. His mind fogged with hormones and emotions. All he managed were obscene groans into Cas's mouth while thrusting against his palm. 

“Say what you need, you want me to stop?” Cas directed, letting go. 

Dean bit his lip and moaned again, shook his head, and put Cas's hand right back between his legs, covering it with his own to demonstrate the desired friction he was after.

Cas smirked, “I want to make you come right now, Dean.”

Dean flipped him on his back, ripping his shirt over his head. “Aww J-jeez, who gets a tan like that, huh? You’re gorgeous.” 

In less than a second he'd pinned Cas's arms above his head, loving the warmth generated from their chests as he crashed down on him, kissing and teasing relentlessly. Dean heard a low rumble of pleasure as he laid once again between his knees, this time hell-bent on finishing. 

“_Dean,_” Cas mumbled, hands struggling to get free, ”unbutton. _ Now.” _

He did as told; sitting back on his heels he unbuttoned his jeans and shimmied the green boxer briefs down about an inch so his cock eagerly bounced out. Cas's fingers wrapped around him and his hips bucked forward. Goddamn, it felt good how his hips moved of their own accord, pumping his cock relentlessly into a hand as greedy as he was for the stellar finish on its way. 

Resting his hands on Cas's bent knees, Dean closed his eyes, completely letting go for once, lost in an ocean of sensations. Muffled sighs revealed Cas was obviously in love with his dick as much as Dean was with his hand. Perspiration beaded down from his chest over his stomach, the muscles of which bunched and contracted in perfect rhythm as they labored in union with his hips to twist, angle, and thrust towards a heavenly crescendo. 

As the luscious feeling heated in his lower belly he noticed a difference in the delectable tugging of Cas's hand. Looking down as his orgasm rolled through him like a tidal wave, Dean saw Cas had freed himself. His hips were pistoning furiously against his hand, which now angled him perfectly so he was coming all over Cas's incredibly thick cock and the heavy, swollen balls just below it. _ Holy hell that is hot. _ If Dean didn't know any better, he'd swear the scene of his own gushing emissions covering Cas who was now hungrily rubbing it all over his own dick, was making him come even harder. 

Dean bellowed from the force still barreling through him as the most intense pulse of the orgasmic punch passed, leaving his thighs shaking and him gasping for air. He leaned his elbows on Cas's knees, who looked damned pleased with what he’d drawn out of Dean, both figuratively and literally. As he milked the last drops of fluid from him, his other hand was busy massaging cum into his balls and beautifully thick shaft. Dean regained enough mental clarity to insist he get in on that action.

He lay down against Cas's side, still mesmerized by watching the glistening results of his orgasm now being rubbed into the head of Cas's cock. Jesus Christ, he'd no idea how hot that could be. “Cum kink much?” Dean whispered, capturing his mouth in a blissful, lazy kiss. 

Cas made some vaguely affirmative, sinful sound as Dean quietly begged against his lips, “Now tell me what _ you _ want.”

He took Dean's hand, gripping it around his dick, and lazily pushed into it. He whispered, “Just kiss me. I love your lips. The way they move on mine feels so good.”

The haze of hormonal bliss hung in the air as Cas became euphoric with the enthusiasm of a loving hand quickly learning the perfect pressure and speed with which to counter the languorous drive of his hips. Cas's orgasm hit, and although it mostly landed on his tummy, he appreciated Dean wanting to follow suit, rubbing what was left in his hand onto his own softening dick. 

Both contentedly sighed. Dean kicked off his pants and boxer briefs, comically throwing himself atop Cas, swaddling him with his body and snuggling into the smooth skin of his apple honey scented neck, giving not one damn how drenched in sweat they both were. Cas contentedly lay there, taking Dean's full weight, ghosting his hands along his sides.

After several minutes he suggested, “Shower?”

“Yep,” Dean quietly murmured, skimming his plump lips up Cas's pulse line to behind his ear, then nipped the lobe playfully. He was in a glorious mood. 

“You've got a pretty hot appetite by the way.” His eyes sparkled in mischief and genuine intrigue.

“Dunno where it came from, not too weird, is it?” Cas's eyes widened with anxiety. 

Dean turned on the water, pulled him into the spacious shower, and pushed him against the tile wall, thrusting into his hip. Both were still recovering, it wasn't going anywhere, but it felt good regardless.

“No, if I didn't need a good thirty minutes in between rounds,“ he emphasized by circling his hips, “the image of you wanting my cum on you so bad would have me spilling again right now.” 

Cas adorably buried his pink face among a pair of beautiful wings, while strong arms held the rest of him close in growing happiness. 

After washing themselves off, and a disgusting amount of kissing and cuddling, both collapsed on the bed. Dean snuggled into Cas's right side; within minutes they were enjoying a late afternoon nap.

~*~*~*~

Swiftly banishing the demon with a snap of his fingers, the man regarded Jim and froze in surprise. 

“Quite the commitment you're offering, for one so young. I wonder if you truly realize the extent of servitude it entails. Name?”

“J-Jim Novak. I want to make a deal.” Jim received the distinct impression Mr. Black greatly wished to converse with him, and not just about the subject for which he'd hauled his ass down here risking life and damnation of the soul. “Do I know you?”

Although it was a simple yes or no question, the man dithered for some seconds before answering. 

“I’ve never met a Jim Novak.”

“Can you help me?” Jim pressed again, growing impatient. 

The man gestured to two chairs which materialized out of thin air. Of all things for a hellion entity to tempt him with, a comfortable sit was the last thing that came to mind.

“Shall we?”

Jim reluctantly humored him out of respect for pleasantries this man seemed fond of. 

“As it happens, I _ am _ in the position to provide the services you seek.”

“Good,” Jim’s whole body sighed in relief. ”But since you prefer standing on ceremony, I'd like your name as well, before moving forward.” 

He expected admonishment for seeming “cheeky.” Yet Mr. Black merely raised an eyebrow in extreme intrigue. 

Once again the matter of acquaintance gave the man undue pause. “I'm known to some as the Crossroads Guardian.” 

“That's a title, not a name, so if it's games you want, find a lesser kid willing to barter their soul for a fucking Gameboy you can pry from their dead hands. I don't have time for this shit, and I'm questioning your qualifications,” Jim barked, finally fed up.

For some reason, absolute elation spread across the man's face. Then he squelched the smile, taking on a serious air. Leaning forward he spoke with astonishing kindness and sincerity, “I can and I_ will _help you, Jim Novak. All I require is a story.”

“A story?!” Jim was appalled. “Sonuvabitch! 

“Son of a witch actually…”

“What's it gonna take to convince a demon I'm serious! I had one until _ you _ showed up! Now he's gone and you're here asking for stories like I'm eight, with nothing better to do!” He stood, kicking a piece of glass so hard his balance slipped, causing him to fall back in his chair a shaking mess.

Mr. Black didn’t seem offended in the slightest but observed with alarming patience.

Jim cried as violent tremors took over. “There's a boy, I love him more than any other soul in this world. He's dying. And you want a goddamn story.”

His body was nearly consumed with illness and exhaustion. His heart was filled to the brim with love, yet it was as close as it would ever get to actually breaking if he couldn't secure the one thing that would save Dean. He hung his head in crushing sadness and lost hope. 

An unexpectedly gentle hand rested on his knee. Mr. Black looked at him like every second of every heartache Jim had known was felt, and equally shared by him.

“You needn't worry Jim. Your offering is more important than any other I've taken. I swear to you, on the wings of my oldest friend, I will save this boy whom you love. But you _ must _ tell me the story,” the man said, genuinely trying to reach through to him.

“_Why? _ Why is my story so important to you? What do you care about the soul you save? Isn't mine the one you'll _ benefit _ from, the one you'll torture for all eternity? What could my story possibly mean to a demon like you?” Jim wailed in pure anguish.

The man's face fell at Jim's harsh words. Regaining resolve he calmly stated, “Dear boy, the story is part of the payment, for the soul you wish to save. It must be. The souls for whom I intervene and collect have no other remuneration. The story they offer when reaching the point of seeking aid of this nature is the most precious, most valuable thing they have.”

Jim's face had begun morphing into silent terror. 

“You see Jim, I’m unique among my kind, in more ways than one. I am indeed a demon, in part, and a dealer of children.” 

As he explained this to Jim, the man's eyes glowed blood red. 

~*~*~*~

A grumble in the dark and something wet on his foot shattered the dream of Jim drawing patterns on his hand. But something wasn't right. The patterns conveyed an urgent cry into the universe.

Dean's eyes flew open. He was with Cas, not Jim, and they'd had an awesome afternoon. Nonetheless, he recoiled, realizing Cas was the one drawing on his hand. What the hell? And who or what licked- 

“Hey Fortinbras,” he yawned, patting his head, completely unaware the dog's presence upstairs was an anomaly.

“Jesus Christ!” Looking back at Cas, Dean fell backward off the bed.

Cas’s eyes were open and glowing a brilliant neon blue as if Optimus Prime himself were possessing him. His hand moved of its own accord, creating the patterns. 

“Cas! Wake up!” Dean frantically waved his hands in front of the guy’s face. “Cas! C'mon wake up!” 

Fortinbras whined as if saying, “Maybe you can fix him?” Like a few mechanical adjustments would do the trick. 

He didn't know what to do. Throwing on his jeans and shoes, he furiously patted his pants pockets for his phone. 

Suddenly, Cas was staring at his hand and gripping his chest as if in pain. Dean approached carefully, struck by the amount of anguish on his face. 

“Cas, what the hell is going on? You alright?” 

He backed away against the headboard, scrunching his knees to his chest. 

“I'll be fine. I'm so sorry Dean. Please, don't tell Eileen about this when she visits your home. I'm sorry,” he begged with unbelievable sadness. 

Why did the light in his eyes seem to be literally and figuratively leaving? 

“What’s happening? What's wrong?” 

Cas flinched at the question. “I only know something _ is _ wrong, but never determined what. I'm sorry you saw this. Thank you for a wonderful day, and the opportunity to meet your family.” His tone was utter hopelessness and loss. 

Dean sensed a slipping of his mental state, it was closing off, sending Dean to the moon in panic.

“No no no! Now hold on a minute! Are you trying to get rid of me? What's going on here? Talk to me Cas. What are you saying? Goodbye?”

“This won't go away, it’s not a desirable quality one looks for in a healthy relationship. I'll manage,” he whispered, emotionally lifeless.

“You think this is a deal breaker? Newsflash. I didn't drop your brother like a broken toy when learning there was no chance of saving him, and I didn't ditch Benny when the vampire attacked him and he was changing.” 

Cas stared in total bewilderment, incapable of registering Dean's intent. 

Something clicked for Dean. “Did, did this happen before? When you were a kid?”

Cas couldn't answer right away, it hurt too much remembering, and he was certain history was about to repeat itself. 

“Oh my God, that's it. Something happened and those fam-Cas, you gotta believe me, I'm here, I'm not gonna leave you. Sam will help- “

“NO! Nobody can know about this!” Cas yelled, backing further away.

“Listen to me,” Dean hushed, “Cas, if this is you, I accept it. But it scares you. That's why me and Sam should figure it out. I'm not going anywhere Cas. _ I promise._”

Cas exploded in panic, “Nobody can know. Not ever!”

“Wait, Hannah and Balthazar don't even know? And Eileen?” 

“If people find out, they leave. It's that simple. Your family is kind, but this goes beyond what they can help with. I've held onto a small but loving family for years. I _ can't _ give it up,” Cas desperately pleaded, on the brink of tears. 

Dean sat in the dark, taking Cas's hand. 

“I can't imagine the loneliness, keeping this inside. But this isn't scaring me away.” 

Cas hesitated. Dean knew so well emotional scars never went away, how it even hurt _ trying _ to have faith again.

“Sorry. For everything you've been through. I promise you will _ never _ be alone in this. Not anymore.” He wrapped Cas in his arms, reassuring him with soft kisses on his cheek. 

“I've healed animals. I feel things from them, people too. I told the second mom her baby had headaches. Doctors discovered hydrocephalus in utero and the foster parents thought I'd caused it. The other family gave me back after they saw me heal their daughter’s compound fracture from falling at the park.”

Dean buried his head in Cas's shoulder and wanted to cry. What was this power Cas possessed? The only way he knew how to help was to never leave him for being different, and hopefully convince him Sam would help.

“It’s your secret, but I refuse to believe your dads, and especially Eileen, would turn their backs on you for this. Will you at least let me take you to Sam?”

While Cas thought on it, Dean scrolled through his rapidly incoming text messages. 

>>Sam**: **Dean r u w/Castiel? Everything ok?

>>Jo**: ** What's this summoning crap? 

>>Charlie**:** Samleen are crazy talking. Have you trapped a demon before?

>>Sam**: **Eileen & I have all we need. Wanted 2 talk about this. Rather u b here.

“Ah crap!!” 

“What?! What's wrong?” 

“Sam and Eileen discovered the deaths were happening on or near crossroads. They wanna summon and kill demons that are dealing. Told him not to mess with this shit before finding somebody more qualified. But they're goin' all Hellraiser anyways. I gotta get ho-”

“I'm coming with you.” Cas flew off the bed onto an offended Fortinbras, who'd been silent as the grave until involuntarily serving as a step stool. 

“Fort! What the F- sorry! How'd you get up here?”

“He's not allowed?” Dean looked kinda sad.

“He's welcome!” Cas defended in astonishment, “he’s just refused, until today.”

Dean wanted to smartass about bringing Fort out of his shell, but it took a back seat. He'd just seen a 180 in Cas. 

Once they hopped in Baby he prodded. “Minutes ago you insisted nobody find out about this. What's changed?” 

“I doubt your brother and Eileen know what they're walking into.”

“And you do?” 

“I’m not sure yet. But either way, I'd rather explain at your house.”

Dean let that go. Cas obviously knew more, possibly a lot more. It sorta pissed him off, but maybe whatever he knew could help Sam and Eileen stay safe. God knew _ they _ sure as hell weren't trying to. He decided to give them a heads up. 

The phone went for half a ring then picked up. “Dean? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Gotta start taking my phone off vibrate. Saw Hannah this afternoon, then Cas. We're headed over now, something happened.” 

“What happened?” Sam asked with irritation.

“No, not like- something only you might be able to help with. Just wait for me and don't do anything until I get there.” Dean snapped his phone shut and chucked it in the backseat.

“Would Sam have issues with us being together?”

“Hell no. Never. But between what happened back at your house and the possible shit storm we're walking into at mine, might be good to hold off just a bit.”

“I understand. We don't have to be gross around everyone. Let's just be _ us_. If they ask, we’ll answer,” Cas said, thoroughly confused with the words which had just tumbled out.

Baby's wheels came to a twisting, screeching halt. Cas's hands were still outstretched in front of himself, as if bracing for impact. Dean stared with turmoil brimming in his eyes, and a demand for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What in the Hell has Jimmy gotten himself into? This Mr. Black seems all kinds of suspicious. Surely we'll find out what's happened...  
And who doesn't love blissful, post coital Dean and Cas? Sexed out happy guys..le sigh. But Cas is sure gettin' weird, isn't he?


	19. Chapter 19

“I don't KNOW what's _ wrong _ with me! I'm sorry Dean!” Cas cried, unaware of _ how _this was happening. 

“What the hell is going on? First the Wonder bread comment this afternoon, then drawing patterns into my hand the same way Jim used to, now this? I haven't read all of the journal yet, but if this stuff is in there-” 

“It's not! I swear! One minute I'm fine, the next you're saying something and-and, a flashback? Pops in my head! Dean, I've seen sixteen year old you, like I was right there when the words were spoken between you two. Shit. This looks really bad.” 

Cas was shaking and so pitifully confused, Dean had no choice but to believe him, for now. But he hoped when they made it to the bunker he'd spill. 

“Cas, I want to _ help _in understanding what this is. Only way is if you lay all your cards on the table,” Dean pleaded.

Cas threw his head in his hands. Dean figured if the guy really was having bizarro flashbacks of Jimmy, he'd need a moment to recalibrate. 

~*~*~ 

“Hey. Remember when I said this wasn’t our kind of problem?” Dean blurted as he and Cas barged in from the garage.

“Yeah?” Sam was relieved to see his brother walking in.

“Definitely our kind of problem-Hey! Woah woah woah! You're gonna do this in here? What the hell Sam?! We don't need this place haunted or, or possessed. We gotta garage full of cars-if Baby goes Christine so help me I will kick your ass!”

Already on edge, Sam didn't have the energy for his brother’s objections after a gander at the summoning he'd set up in the library. 

Eileen swatted his arm lightly_,“_Told you it was a bad idea.”

That she had. Trading sleep for ASL tutorials had been paying off, slowly. Her smile at him learning, messing up, and trying again made him feel like a million bucks. But right now he was frustrated, obviously. “Well, doing it outside won't be much different then.”

“Or you could not do it at all,” Dean recommended.

“What about the basement?” Cas signed, “seemed to have ample spell ingredients, space, and restraints in there. Move the party down south.”

Dean looked incredulous. “This is a crap idea. You're not helping!”

“We need to speak with this demon. If children are dealing their souls then it _ has _ to stop,” Cas signed with fervor. 

The guy hadn't seemed inclined before; Sam wondered what changed his mind. 

Eileen gave Castiel a strange look, but he eagerly translated the conversation, so she moved on.

”I spoke with three of the families previously interviewed. Each has another member who’d been terminally ill, or fatally injured and miraculously recovered. I'm certain this is happening.”

“Then I need to share some information with you before proceeding.” 

The guy looked thoroughly pained. What was on his mind? And if Dean's chair got any closer to his, Sam swore he'd be in his lap. Whatever.

“I'll start with what’s most relevant to this case. Hopefully, you’ll understand why I didn't bring this up before.”

Sam observed how badly he was shaking and gently implored, “Please tell us whatever you can.”

“I’ve ah, been having these dreams, since mid-September. Jim's speaking in another language. I don't understand it, sounds like Latin. He um, wants to make a deal. Save someone.”

As Castiel spoke, Sam noticed he didn't look up from the table once. He got to the part about seeing all the purple eyes, became flustered and professed, “This isn't some bad acid trip, just so we're clear.” 

“We've each seen really weird crap and you don't seem like you'd make _ this _ stuff up. The eye thing sounds familiar, gonna grab my laptop,” Charlie chimed.

“What happens next?” Sam gently prompted.

Castiel told them every single detail he could recall. Sam easily saw his struggle, him knowing what Jim meant to them.

“This is really messed up. I understand if it's too much. Normally I'd never say anything like this because it's upsetting to you guys. It sure as hell is to me!” Cas buried his head in his hands. Eileen silently cried but rubbed his back.

Out of habit, Sam had been monitoring Dean, who appeared frozen in shock, for signs of anxiety. He was also in paranormal diagnosis mode, mentally running through every bit of lore he'd read on dream phenomenon. He felt sick for Castiel, what a fucked up dream to have on repeat. 

“Castiel, why haven't you told me about this? I would've tried to help, did you think I'd doubt you?” Eileen sniffled.

“No. I-”

Sam saw him look over in pure, undiluted misery at Dean. He listened in disbelief as Cas recounted a lifetime of incidents involving healing powers, empath abilities, random precognition, and visions he knew damn well “normal” people didn’t have.

“There are cases, going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies,” the younger Winchester mulled over aloud.

“They weren't caused by the trauma of the families giving me back, it's the other way around.” 

Sam was floored; these peculiarities had rendered him seemingly unworthy of a family's love. Castiel had suffered more rejection, loss, and emotional trauma than Sam thought possible for a human to sustain and still function. To learn all of this had been heaped upon him while contending with multiple organ failure as a child made him feel sick. Sam got up and hugged him tightly.

“God, Castiel, what you've been through, I-I wish we could've met so much earlier. I can't believe how strong you’ve been. What happened with the other fami-,” he had to take a minute, it was almost too much, “This family doesn't cast people out because they're different, _ any kind _of different. We embrace it.”

Castiel hugged him back with equal intensity and relief. 

“Your brother loved Jo and I as much as we loved him. He would've done _ anything _ for us. Let us do the same for you.”

“Thank you Sam,” was Castiel's simple reply. Although in his sincere tone, everyone present heard volumes more.

Eileen hadn't signed a word. When Cas was ready he asked her, “Why aren't you furious with me for never telling you?”

“I’m hurt. I've told you some of the things I've seen and done. But I can understand why you were afraid to say anything,” she promised, kissing his cheek.

The atmosphere of the room had lightened, any potential family storm had passed. The evening’s business preyed heavily on everyone's minds.

Dean wondered, “Are you summoning a specific demon?”

“There’s one Jo found this afternoon, a demon known as the Crossroads Guardian, figure it's a good place to start,” Sam informed.

Castiel's face went bone white, “Are you certain you have everything?”

“Uh yeah, got the last few ingredients today. That your guy?”

Cas nervously nodded. 

Sam knew how his brother's survivors guilt still ate him alive everyday. The mere possibility that Jim might've sold his soul for Dean had Sam himself really worried. God help them all if it turned out to be true, because he knew that was something Dean would probably never come back from.

~*~*~*~

“Holy shit,” Dean coughed, “I can't wait to never have Piña Coladas again. You won't have to exorcise him, his vessel will puke him up just to escape the smell.”

The suffocating odor of fruity scented candles screamed that Jo, Charlie, and Eileen had set up the dungeon.

Dean observed the geometric shapes on the floor under a bowl of herbs, and he didn't really want to know what the fuck else was in there, given what they were summoning.

Reaching his hand over the bowl, Sam sliced his palm with a unique looking bowie knife, uttering the words, ”_Et ad congregandum... eos coram me.""_

“Jesus, Sam!” Dean barked, grabbing his brother’s hand for inspection as the ingredients ignited in sparks and green flames

“Not even close,” bemused a gravelly voice.

Everybody jumped, gaping in fear at the man standing before them, clad in black save for a green pocket square neatly folded in the left breast of his suit.

“Samuel, lovely to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Black pleasantly addressed, “word to the wise, that incantation is useless.”

“Got your ass here, didn't it?” Dean folded his arms across his chest.

Tucking his hands in his pants pockets, Mr. Black smiled, traipsing right out of the devil's trap. 

Sam began an exorcism spell but Mr. Black merely waved his hand, silencing him with a muting spell. 

“You have my word no harm will come to any of you,” Mr. Black promised.

“What did you do to my brother, you dick?” Dean discovered his feet were glued to the floor.

“_My word, _ Dean Winchester, which happens to be my bond,” he daringly stated. “How's your health these days? Demon summoning’s hardly conducive to longevity, now is it? I'd advise caution.”

So it was true. This demon knew him because of Jim. And Dean thought living with Jim's heart was difficult? What unspeakable things had his soul been suffering in Hell all this time? His eyes burned with hellfire, staring the demon down with promise of destruction.

“I like him!” exclaimed Mr. Black, turning to Cas, ”I thoroughly approve of the choice.” His tenor shifted into something startlingly soft as he glanced at Cas with amazement.

“Sorry Cas, guess it's true.” Dean whispered, choking on his tears. 

The man's head snapped to Dean in vague awe, then smoothly waltzed over to Cas. “That wouldn't be short for Castiel, now would it?”

Cas lifted his chin in defiance.

The man looked incredulous and strangely pleased, as he addressed Cas again, “What are the odds?”

“I want my brother back, you asshole!” Cas bellowed.

“Yes, that's certainly the pressing issue on everyone's mind. Also, take note- everyone's still alive and breathing,” he directed towards Dean, reminding him, “_my word. _ Let's play a little game of _ Show me yours and I'll show you mine. _Why’ve you summoned me, and rather sloppily I might add?”

“We know you deal with kids, assface. Who and what are you?” Charlie spat.

“Hardly a secret, is it? I have one rule: make a deal, keep it. Who am I? I'm youth. I am joy. I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg," he nonchalantly delivered.

“Mason Candet, Delvan Schular, Rose Henley, Anthony Greene, Jessa Byrnes, Alyssa Farro, Megan Gorell- you've taken them all in the last few months for torture!” Jo screamed, “They were innocent! They deserved to be in heaven, not in hell with a demon!”

Dean noticed Jo's words gave the man brief pause, before meandering over to her, “I am demon, partly, yes. Though, I'm afraid you've been victim of some nasty misinformation. I currently hold accords with all those children, _ and _ many others. However, _ none _ of them have been tortured or taken to Hell.”

Jo started in frantic confusion, “But the books here all say-”

“Oh well, if you heard it on Facebook, it must be true!” the man scowled, put out he'd been wrongly pegged, and not for the first time. 

Snapping his fingers, he sat comfortably in a chair over the bowl. Raising a highball glass, he cheered, ”Slàinte!” before taking a sip, “Craig. Aged thirty years at least. Care for a nip?” 

Everyone remained against the dungeon walls, unsure what their next move should be.

“Right, where to start?” He absentmindedly scratched his beard. 

“My human life was a steaming pile of manure. I mean that. Stupidly, I sold my soul one night. Then ten years later died, only it didn't go exactly according to plan. Turns out, Mum was packing more than just magical ability, she's an angel-”

A collective gasp rippled in disbelief that an angel would birth a demon dealer of children.

“Which made me a Nephil. My own childhood was such misery, I can't bear to see others suffer.”

Dean lunged at the man in a rage, “Then where were you when Jim was suffering?!” 

Finding himself flung backward against the wall with a thud, the man walked towards Dean. “I was keeping my word! That second procedure to remove the excess fluid around your heart, who do you think cleared their schedule that day? Hm? Had I not, I would've been in direct violation of contract!”

“I-”

“You would've died later that night had I not made certain _ adjustments. _And your precious gift, surely doctors have expressed dismay it's held nearly triple the standard five to eight-year range, have they not?”

“Yes.” Dean was hemorrhaging emotion. 

“We stood watch over you as the surgeons stitched you back up. Unique scar you have there isn't it? Not like others, very particular in its shape, as is the _ ink _ surrounding it,” Mr. Black remarked. 

Jim had witnessed his salvation? Tears spilled down Dean's face for Jim having suffered such monumental torment before and after he died. But how did this asshole know about the blade and wings? He refused to discuss them with anyone. Not Sam, not Donna, not even Benny. 

With anger coursing through him he growled, “What the fuck do you know about it?”

The man’s demeanor towards Dean shifted. His aura of power was so raw it could shatter the universe on a whim. He felt it in his bones.

“The uniquely shaped scar was no accident**, ** nor the dream inspiring the commission. And the lovely artist bestowing it upon you, was no run of the mill goth wielding a vibrating needle. The masterpiece was created by none other than Abbadon, Queen of Hell, _ at my behest._”

“_QUEEN OF HELL?! _” both Sam and Jo shrieked.

He continued boring holes through Dean, although an infinitesimal smirk betrayed his enjoyment at their reaction. 

“The blade, so flawlessly executed on your chest, belongs to only one, as do the sets of wings.”

Dean was speechless with rage. 

“Why? Why would you do that?” Cas demanded of the man.

Mr. Black explained in an odd tone, “They’re a warning to _ anyone _ or _ anything _ that dares try harming him. The reason he's still intact and thriving.” 

“I doubt that was in any contract,” Cas seethed.

“I’ve abided by every rule of the contract, set forth by Jim,” Mr. Black assured, his eyes roaming back and forth from Cas to Dean, “and even had you marked to ensure protection, a courtesy_ believe me _, I've provided no other.”

Snapping himself out of a mental health freefall to process that gem, Dean shouted, “This, this is yours?! You've branded me like some fucking cow?!” He nearly choked in disgust, but instantly regretted his words, realizing he'd drawn the ire of one who could obliterate the world with a single thought.

Violent red eyes flared and Dean found himself barred by the throat, lifted high off the ground against the dungeon wall as if weighing nothing. 

“You _ dare _ compare that which protects you to ownership of cattle!? Ungrateful, mewling _ , blasphemous _ idiot! That blade belongs to heaven's most courageous warrior! Those wings, down to each individual feather, are a precise replica belonging to one who was like my brother! We fought in wars together over millennia! I knew every burn, break, and flaw in them because it was I who healed him!”

“Wh-” Cas tried pleading for Dean's release.

“DO I SOUND FINISHED?!”

Dean knew this summoning had gone off the rails because of him, he just hoped his family would be left intact.

The man's eyes were blazing as he howled, “The Queen herself permitted me to scorch them into her mind from my own memory, my grace, so that_ you _ would be protected above all others! _ Do not ever _make that comparison again in my presence, or otherwise. ARE. WE. CLEAR?!” the man shouted so loudly the dungeon shelves rained with exploding glass.

“Dean,” Sam painfully whimpered from across the room in reaction to watching something unbearable before his eyes. 

Unable to move, Sam's wavering voice, so very close to tears, told Dean exactly how terrified his brother was of him mentally losing himself for good. 

“Hey! Hey, focus. Listen to me, don't you _ dare _go there jerk! Please, we'll make a call. Just hold on, please.”

The man growled at everyone. “Are we done with the pleasantries yet? You lot are lucky my ears were burning enough to give you my attention, which would otherwise be spent saving young souls trying to damn themselves! Now sit the hell down, shut the fuck up, and listen!” 

And they did. Every last one of them sat on a chair which appeared before them, and waited for him to begin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo boy, did that plot just thicken? Wut in tarnation have we got on our hands here? Mr. Black might not be who he originally seemed. Whomever he is, I sure love his his snark and sass! Were you relieved at how accepting of Cas the family was? (Pfft! As if they'd be any different) Let's find out if this mystery man will spill anymore information...
> 
> "I am joy. I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg,." -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
> 
> **Scottish Gaelic**  
Slàinte!//Cheers!
> 
> **Latin**  
Et ad congregandum... eos coram me//Basic demon summoning, SPN Wiki


	20. Chapter 20

No one uttered a word until Eileen gently waved at him and signed, “Were you signing or is this a vision? How do you know I'm deaf?”

“It's easy enough to pick up on. Yes, a vision of sorts. I've simply widened the range of frequencies on which I broadcast. They hear me speak, you see me speak,” Mr. Black explained.

Cas wondered if this asshole was bipolar with how swiftly he'd shifted gears from Hell's Kitchen to poster demon for British communications. 

“Thank you very much. I'm Eileen by the way. May I ask your name?”

“You're quite welcome my dear, pleased to meet you. In poorly written literature I'm referred to as the Crossroads Guardian, you may call me Crowley.” His now human gaze traveled in a circle, meeting the others. “Eileen, Samuel-”

“Just Sam...please.”

“Eileen, JustSamPlease, and you girls are?” 

“Jo.”

“Charlie.”

“And of course Dean and Cas,” Crowley sang.

“Only he gets to call me that,” Cas snarled. No way was this assface referring to him in the same manner as Dean.

Crowley's eyes danced in amusement, “Fair enough. Since Eileen began, let's continue counter clockwise. JustSamPlease.”

Crowley received a severe bitch face. “Passing this round? Very well.”

Sam gasped with incredulity and before he could speak, his turn was given to Jo.

“Miss Jo March, anything?” Crowley asked politely.

Shooting him a very confused look she corrected, “Just Jo-”

Mild irritation flashed over his face before his sarcasm dripped into words. “Don’t tell me, are you two related? Honestly. Well, next time,” he stated with annoyance and moved on. “Charlie, yes? If it's any version of ‘It's Just Charlie, I'm leaving by the way.” 

“I want my turn! Crap, where to start?” she muttered, “You don't harm children, but make deals and take their souls?”

“I don't harm, trap, or manipulate children. I do take their souls. Upon hearing of a deal in progress, I intervene. It’s forbidden to deal with children-Eh! Tsk, tsk! Just listen!” he countered, seeing her face turn accusatory. 

“_In fact_, after learning _ why _ they've taken such drastic measures, my pitch begins with discouragement. Some can be reasoned with.”

“And those who can't?” Charlie interrupted.

"I cannot interfere with free will. When a child stays their course, they’re given images via _ moi,_ of Hell's Torment. Then I provide a secondary option. Dean, your turn,” Crowley directed.

“What do you do with their souls, where do you take them?” Dean’s voice cracked with so much grief, it took Cas's breath away.

“That's behind door _ number two. _ When a child deals, even for love, it's against God's law. Penance must be served. They’re shown a better realm of my making, where they may serve their sentences. _ Imperium Innocentia.” _

“Realm of Innocence?” Sam immediately asked.

“Not your turn Samantha,” Crowley reminded, “Castiel, proceed.”

“You said it's forbidden to deal with children, yet you do so frequently; on whose authority? Hell's, Heaven's?”

“The Queen’s husband, Ramiel, saw potential in my work. He's a pacifist, you see. And Abbadon simply has no mercy for those truly deserving Hell's punishment. Neither enjoyed corrupting children; their spirits are so full of hope. They take far longer to break than adults, who are scarred and weakened from life's experiences.”

Everyone shivered when thinking of children's souls in hell clinging desperately to hope, for a salvation never coming.

“It cleared the traffic jams, leaving time for the purely justified torment. Eileen, you're next dear.”

“I appreciate your explanation. Why have crossroads deals increased so much over the last few decades?” 

“Try the last two centuries. I blame the media entirely. Gothic literature sensationalized monsters, healthy fear began waning, and a desire to ‘reach out and touch something’ took its place.”

“So when spooky stories became entertainment rather than content worthy of stake burning if caught in someone's possession?” Charlie posed.

“Yahtzee. When that drunken Irishman sexualized vampirism, warping the beloved story of a Wallachian hero, it went downhill from there.”

Cas was thankful Dean spoke up with a simmering anger.

“You're actually gonna sit there playing Monsterpiece theater, expecting us to swallow that _ books _are to blame?!”

“What you swallow out of others’ expectations is none of my business Dean. It's a simple history lesson. When storytelling expanded through film, everything went to the hounds. Now I’ve tween half wits dealing for sparkling lovers they can call their own.”

“But isn't the massive rise in the last few months kind of extreme? It's hard to blame media with a spike this big,” Sam asked on schedule.

“It's garnered my attention. Seems demons would rather die by my hand staying hush than face Ramiel. Jo.” 

“When you catch wind of a deal, how do you know? How many do you 'intervene’ on, all of them?”

“Obviously can't be everywhere at once, I have willing eyes and ears notifying me.”

Castiel noticed Charlie's response to the part about _ willing eyes_. 

“Are you referring to demons, or creatures who have several eyes? Or several helpers with just the standard two?” Charlie asked, casting a ‘_D__on’t worry, I'm on it’ _glance in Cas's direction. 

Crowley cocked his head to the side when answering, “All of the above.” 

Charlie stared at him expectantly, yet followed Eileen's suit, adjusting her tone from nervous to respect. 

“As a bastard abomination belonging to neither Heaven nor Hell, I've found allies for my cause among the broken ranks of each. It matters little where assistance comes from, so long as it aids my purpose. Which multipeepered entity do you seek?” 

Cautiously, Charlie described the creature he'd witnessed, keeping the true context out of the conversation. 

“I’ve occasionally employed their cooperation, yes. _Dean_.”

Cas saw how he'd begun to drift under the crushing emotional weight of what they'd learned. It was painful for him too. 

“How long are they stuck in kid purgatory? Do they ever reach Heaven?”

“Imperium Innocentia is a world born of children's dreams**. **My realm allows young souls to recover their innocence lost, while waiting out their sentences. When time's been served, my ferrymen provide a comfortable journey to Heaven.”

“_Your _ ferrymen?” Cas blanched.

“A trustworthy few I've bribed with the highest coin, for their ongoing loyal services.” 

**“**You sure it's secure? Are all souls accounted for?” Dean's tone became desperate. 

“Last I checked. Although, I'll be tearing my way through demonkind over the recent rise in deals. Of that you can be sure."

Crowley casually walked towards Dean and Cas, cautiously holding out his hands in a gesture meant to calm, but he and Dean immediately recoiled.

“Really? I was charged with your well being Dean. It wouldn't do, leaving you so close to mental breakdown. And you’re nipping at his heels, Castiel. Jim was indeed lucky to feel such bountiful love in his short life. Allow me to ease your minds. It won't hurt. You have my _ word."_

“I, I never knew him,” Cas said, close to tears.

Cas sensed genuine sorrow from Crowley as the man placed a hand on his shoulder and softly stated, “I know, and you both were all the poorer for it.” 

He touched their temples, their eyes illuminated, glowing with red veins in spider webbed patterns from the point of contact across their cheeks. 

Cas felt immersed in light. Companionship spread through his whole being, the comfort it brought was as the coolest breeze on a perfect autumn day**. **An enormous aged tree, knotted and gnarled, flickered with a beaming light from within. Voices beckoned from wisps of children's souls dancing in a field. The sky was wrapped in glittering stripes Cas likened to marzipan. Souls gleefully caught pieces of it falling that were shaped like smooth, flat arrows swirling as leaves on the wind.

He experienced the rush of wind, sunshine, and ethereal song within the souls soaring around glistening patches of water suspended, like lakes and ponds, if the land were simply removed, retaining its shape. He knew the exhilaration emanating from souls when jumping from the sky arrows into the water, embraced by pegasus cradling them, expressing deep affection.

Millions upon millions of stars pinged jovially as if audibly waving to the wisps. Falling stars were caught, collected, and a great battle began. Wisps excitedly sent their stars sailing across the plains, some joyfully caught and combined them. When landing, they burst like shimmering dust, eliciting cheers.

Cas felt it slipping. He wanted to hold these spectacular visions in his mind forever. Knowing he'd never see their likeness again, he clung to the memory as the place drifted away.

Crowley brought him and Dean back. His hands remained against their wet cheeks as he calmly stated, “On these magic shores children at play are forever beaching their coracles. There is almost nothing that has such a keen sense of fun as a leaf. I promise you both, no harm has come to Jim. His time there is happy.”

Neither he, nor Dean, knew what to say. It was the kind of experience one could marinate in for days. 

Crowley addressed them all. “I realize my existence is a conundrum. Get over it. Hopefully I've managed to convince you I'm not the villain in this story, just a half breed screw up searching for a redemption arc. I'll look into the rise in deals.” 

“And if nothing turns up? We can't sit back, letting children deal themselves away,” Sam insisted.

“Can't change their choices, but I try to make the consequences far more agreeable. Are you really going to hold me accountable for their deaths Sam?” Crowley asked in frustration.

Cas heard Sam sigh in disappointment at the impasse, but he was still too stunned from the vision to speak.

“I gain nothing from the contracts, save a shred of peace in knowing each soul entering my realm is one less on the racks ‘downstairs’. Is it selfish? I suppose. But logically, consider the alternative.”

Again, all shuddered when they did.

“Don’t try this summoning method again. I'll wager you agree enough blood is already shed in hollow pursuits these days. If you must, here's my number.” He handed a card to Cas.

Crowley disappeared, as did the chairs they'd been using. All fell to the cold dungeon floor, jolted from their reflections of what transpired. 

Charlie darted from the room and Jo followed after her. Cas knew Sam and Eileen were concerned about him and Dean. 

“You want me to call Donna?”

Cas was relieved seeing Dean lift his eyes, still stunned, but shaking his head. He couldn't converse yet with anyone who hadn't experienced the unbelievable vision from Crowley. Sensing this, Eileen pulled a reluctant Sam from the dungeon, allowing them space to process. 

Cas felt the warmth of Dean's hand suddenly taking his own. He was looking at him with careful inspection, seeking silent confirmation they'd really just shared a glimpse of Imperium Innocentia, an entirely separate world which this Crowley demon had created. 

Like two magnets, they moved at the same moment, wrapping their arms around each other, finding comfort existing in such calming, warm proximity. Dean buried his face in Cas's neck, soaking up the serenity of just being still. 

Sounds of movement elsewhere in the bunker slowly brought them out of their trance-like peace. Cas held Dean's face, searching for signs of panic or alarm. He wanted to pepper him with gentle kisses, but Jo was calling from down the hall.

“Castiel! We found something! Dean c'mere!” she hollered. 

Pressing his lips gingerly against Dean's cheek, Cas led him from the dungeon, both experiencing a calm neither had expected after such an encounter, but would hold on to as long as they could.

Charlie had thrown a few books onto the library tables beside her laptop, open and running scans for something. 

“Something about your name reminded me of one I've seen popping up all over these religious texts in various forms. Maybe Castiel’s one derived from this angel.”

“My dad, Balthazar, helped me choose it. My birth name, Steven Emmanuel, never felt right. When Balthazar suggested ‘Castiel’, it felt like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Think it was a family name. Now I want to learn more.” 

“I'm pretty curious too,” Jo admitted, “plenty of Michaels and Gabriels walking around. Castiel is far less common.”

“There's something else,” Cas hesitantly broached, “when Crowley met Jim, he looked like he recognized him. When he looked at me, it felt the same, and as I've already said I _ know _ his voice. Something tells me Jim did too,” Cas concluded. 

“Hey guys!” Sam yelled, emerging from the depths of the archives room. He stumbled over something, then turned the corner into the library. ”I found'em! Here!” 

He walked unevenly towards the tables and dumped at least twenty books in front of them.

“I can't even believe _ I _forgot this, but with this crossroads case we've been working on and there being so many angels names in this series it completely slipped my mind. Other 'us’ has kind of a guardian angel. Might be weird reading this, but in the other universe, Castiel is an angel who takes a vessel. It's Jim.”

“What?” Cas said in disbelief.

He chose a book, examining it carefully. “These look like grown up R.L. Stine novels. What kind of universe is this?”

“Pretty close to ours actually. Here, Castiel doesn't turn up until this book, _Lazarus_ _Rising.” _

The longer Cas flipped through the pages of the one Sam gave him, the more his curiosity grew. Although the character was quite different from him, the way his thought processes and interactions were written struck a chord. This character was a stranger to him, like Jim had always been. Yet, an undeniable connection maddeningly hovered on the fringes of recognition. Extreme puzzlement must've broken through his quiet exterior, prompting Dean's concern.

“What? What is it?”

“I, this Jimmy, Castiel-he pulled you from the depths of hell after fighting legions of demons for forty years, and instantly knew you believed yourself undeserving of salvation.”

Cas witnessed a flicker of something tragically familiar behind Dean's eyes as he spoke. From the second they'd met, he'd felt the man's soul cry out in pain. Multiple times since then, he'd found himself reacting by reaching out to comfort a man he barely knew. 

Dean Winchester believed his love was the ruination of those to whom he'd expressed it, which in his mind also rendered him unworthy of fully receiving it. Giving all he had, he lived a half life, guarding his heart from the happiness he'd so painfully lost in the past. 

“His thought processes, your reactions, his _ power,"_ Cas said in a whisper barely loud enough to hear, “Dean, who am I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indeed Cas, who are you? Kinda glad Crowley isn't as truly evil as first impressions implied? Damn I love him.
> 
> “On these magic shores children at play are forever beaching their coracles. There is almost nothing that has such a keen sense of fun as a leaf." -J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan


	21. Chapter 21

“I want to ask my dad how the name came to be in his family,” Cas whispered as he began dialing. 

“It's barely sun up,” Dean rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. Damn, dungeon time had really flown.

“They're always up early, years of first shift dialysis rounds.” Cas explained, hitting the speaker button.

“Good Morning Castiel,” Balthazar greeted.

“Hey Dad, I have a question.”

“Ask and you shall receive.”

“I spent half the night talking with the Winchesters," _ which technically was no lie_, "and the subject of my name came up. I'm curious about it.” 

Balthazar replied with an audible smile, “What would you like to know?”

“What’s the story behind it? Was it a character from a book that inspired the name? A real person?” 

“Two people actually,” his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “I was eight when we lost my baby brother to S.I.D.S.; it affected me deeply. My mother had named him Castiel. 

Both shook their heads, feeling guilty for broaching such a melancholic subject. 

“I-I'm sorry Dad, I never knew. Pops never said anything.”

“It’s alright. Not something brought up in common conversation really. My father never recovered, in a sense we lost him too. I spent a lot of time reading in my room. By eight, children begin to understand the frailty of things, in my family's case, the frailty of both body and mind. When I turned ten, I promised my father and little brother I'd try saving children when I grew up.”

“Dad, you've more than lived up to that promise.”

“I hope I have. As far as the other, I’ll tell you what I was told by my mother. Take it with a colossal grain of salt, it's a tall tale if I ever heard one. The tragic incident was never solved.”

Cas tilted his head in question, the way Dean was now becoming less alarmed by.

“My grandmother, May Sunder, was a little girl when she lost her mother Lily, and a close family friend Akobel. There’d been an attack; strange acquaintances of Akobel arrived, going on about May being a kind of forbidden half breed child.”

Dean and Cas both were confused, they wanted to hear more, but sensed it wasn't going to end well.

“They tried executing her. A woman in the group who’d pleaded for the family to be left alone, fought unlike anything May had ever seen. My grandmother went to her grave certain the woman, Castiel, was an angel. Always thought the name had a nice ring, but there you have it.”

“What kind of group was this? Local religious nuts?” Cas asked, horrified. 

“I got the impression Akobel knew them but greatly disagreed with their beliefs. Perhaps he and Castiel were raised in it.”

“Hopefully she lived a happy life afterwards. Thank you, for the name and the story,” Cas beamed. 

“It belonged to a few special people, so it very much belongs with you,” Balthazar issued proudly.

Cas smiled, he clearly loved his fathers so much. Dean was once again thankful for their intervention. 

~*~*~*~

As he pulled into Cas's driveway and cut Baby's ignition, he yawned. 

Cas took his hand and spoke to him softly, “You took a heavy emotional beating last night. Will you stay with me?”

The pull he felt towards the guy kept him tethered to reality, if reality were a comet. Cas was both familiarity and the unknown, tugging at his heart strings and most definitely unexpected. “Yeah.”

The rising sun pouring through the passenger window illuminated the right side of his face. For a brief moment his head blocked the sun, and a pale halo shone around him like a renaissance painting. “You're more beautiful than the rising sun Cas. Just thought you should know.”

Cas looked at Dean in wonderment, then a radiant smile broke free. “That's the nicest compliment I've ever been paid. Thank you.”

They got out of Baby and Cas saw to a few house chores. Dean showered, managing to leave himself alone. Finding Cas in bed sleepily waiting for him made his heart skip a beat. 

“An angel without pajamas, are you trying to spoil me?” 

“I sleep better without them,” Cas sheepishly explained. 

Dean wiggled his right arm under Cas's head, and gently pulled his left leg around his waist. Nuzzling their noses together, he said just before kissing him, “You _ feel _better without them.”

For an incredibly tactile creature like Dean, the heated skin resting, pressing, and undulating against his own was the same to his soul as serotonin to the brain. Time stretched on as they leisurely kissed. Cas happily ran his hand in long oval shapes between Dean's sternum and collarbone. He'd brush over the beautifully inked scar, never pausing in curiosity, because they were as natural to him as a freckle or birthmark. Dean's hand firmly pressed down Cas's thigh til it found the toned muscles of his backside. He squeezed, pulling Cas even closer, and his hips took over the motions Dean's hand had been urging. 

Enjoying a relaxed pace, he skimmed lightly up Cas's spine, which curved into each downward trail of his fingertips. His hardening cock nudged against Dean's. Cas broke their kiss momentarily to grab lube from his nightstand. Dean's abdominal muscles tightened in response to an exceptionally attentive hand stroking them both. He happily left things in his boyfriend's capable hands, moving to the same rhythm as their hips. Dean's fingers slid down the cleft of Cas’s glorious cheeks. A push back encouraged a second finger to delicately sweep over his sensitive entrance. Precious sighs floated from Cas's mouth as he quickened the loving strokes between them. 

Dean grabbed the bottle and squeezed plenty out, noticing Cas growing frantic as two fingers worked circles around his rim. He issued short, needy whines, so Dean pushed his right knee up and his palm greedily massaged the heavy weights on its way back to the happy button. Cas sinfully groaned against his neck, then blessed him with a bite. Cas had really gone for it. Secretly, Dean had always wanted to try that, but sadly nobody else had been into the idea, until now. He pressed and circled his fingers harder against Cas, feeling the ring of muscles loosen, begging for him to enter.

“Hey,” he breathed out in a low timbre.

“Hmm?” 

“Do that again,” Dean commanded in a growl. 

Cas didn't need reminding of what _ 'that’ _ was. With a feral sound, he sunk his teeth into the meat of Dean's neck, yielding a hungry moan. As his teeth found their purchase, Dean slid a finger past the first ring of Cas's muscles and immediately received a counter thrust to get his fingers even deeper. 

Dean bit his lip hard to keep himself from spiraling too quickly, and slid another finger in, nudging and curling when he found that spot he knew would send his boyfriend to the moon. Searching Cas's face for any hesitation or reluctance to what was happening, he found none. “Cas,” he whispered, his fingers still laboring to open him. As he glided a third in, he confessed with desperate vulnerability, “I wanna be inside you…” 

“_Please. Please Dean." _There was so much in those two words; the same desperation he felt was mirrored in the tenor of Cas's voice. Raw lust, but also great reverence.

Everything inside Dean was operating on an instinctual need to make love to this otherworldly soul, ensuring he felt safe, knew how badly he was craved, understood how completely he was cared for. Watching Cas eagerly turn on his tummy and prop himself up on his elbows, then looking back at him with anticipation, melted his heart. Wanting him to be comfortable above all else, Dean grabbed a pillow and tapped his hip so he'd lift up. He slipped it under his belly, and grabbed the bottle of lube. Looking beneath him, Dean thought he was gorgeous with his evenly tan skin and mussed hair. 

He rested on his knees and softly sat on Cas's thighs, just below his cheeks. Leaning forward, he placed wet kisses up his back, continuing an upward path until reaching the more pliant skin where shoulder meets neck. “Your skin smells like the most mouth watering, forbidden fruit Cas. Forgive me the sins I'm about to commit, and thoroughly enjoy.”

At those words, his lover beneath him trembled, gripped the pillows, then tilted his head to expose his neck-taunting him with said fruit. Dean raked an incisor across his neck where his pulse was the strongest, while simultaneously slipping his slick cock between two plush cheeks, pulling an obscene moan from Cas's throat. He provided a languid, rhythmic torture against Cas's wet hole. Dean gently pulled Cas's head to the side so he could tease and suck on his tongue. He could feel squirming underneath him for friction against the pillow. 

Dean took great joy in the spiral of need from Cas's body as it shifted between the confines of his knees. He whined and whimpered, burying his face in the bed sheets. Sitting back, he gripped the base of his cock, pressing delicately against the entrance. Careful not to move away from it, he stilled his hips yet returned his mouth to the delicious skin of Cas's shoulder. In one swift, smooth movement, Dean plunged his swollen cock into the satin heat and his teeth onto the juiciest part of his neck. Cas moaned in a sinful, orgasmic tone. Dean almost came from lustful pride, being the cause of such a primal sound. 

Pushing himself up, he began the truly agonizing pleasure of tenuously sliding in and out of Cas to find the perfect angle. The muscles in Dean's back, thighs, and ass strained under deliberate movements, giving Cas an intensely gradual build. He'd never felt such silky heat grip around his dick as it coiled and tugged with each backward tilt of his hips, and released with every forward glide. 

When Dean suspected he was close to coming, he'd pull him back from the edge by cocooning himself around Cas's body, leisurely kissing him, while providing steady, shallow thrusts. Every growl, sigh, and groan ripping from Cas's throat was refreshing water to his long parched soul. He knew he was growing desperate, the pitch of his voice was urgent when Dean's name fell from his lips. 

“Shhh, I know what you need angel. You want it so badly and I'll give it to you,” Dean murmured in his ear while delivering quick, short thrusts. “But you have to come first. Mmmm, I wanna feel you milking what you need out of me.”

By then he'd learned the precise angle to set the slow building tidal wave in motion, tearing Cas apart. Bracing his left arm against the headboard and curling his right hand over Cas's, their fingers intertwined. Perspiration was dripping down the sides of his face, and a glistening sheen covered his chest. He pulled back, then slid down into him as deep as he could, lingering momentarily to stretch and fill him just a little bit more. Dean was nearly at his own precipice, unable to help the relentless grunting from deep in his own chest. Through sheer will power he held his own release back, continuing the assault until Cas was yelling, clinching, and shuddering around him. Feeling such an incredibly delicious pull on his cock from so many different angles triggered a slow burn orgasm breaking through him. The spots firing off in his eyes told him how close he'd been to blacking out from coming so hard. 

He looked down to see his thick, hot emissions pouring from Cas down the back of his thighs and the front of his own. Yet he couldn't completely stop the pumping of his cock in and out of that perfect channel, it just felt too good. The high he felt was better than any drug on the planet. It was natural, healthy, and shared with someone he wanted to hold in his arms forever. And then he remembered the kink. It gave Dean all kinds of cuddly post coital feels realizing the opportunity to bring Cas even more pleasure. Carefully hovering over Cas, he peppered his neck with kisses. Still reeling from an incredible orgasm, he breathlessly urged him to turn over. 

“I don't want to move. That was too good,” Cas whined exhaustively.

“Oh buddy, yes you do, believe me. C'mon, roll over,” Dean quietly begged. He loved how endearingly grumpy this guy was after sex.

Dean flipped him over and kissed him like he meant it more than anything he'd ever done, because he did. “I'm not finished,” he said, with loving mischief.

Curiosity alone silenced any lingering protests. Dean held his fascinated gaze and crawled down Cas's body in a predatory manner, spread his knees, and proceeded to kiss, lick, and suck on his balls which were still heavy and swollen. He heard a blissful sigh and felt Cas relax in contentment, enjoying Dean's thoughtful aftercare. The combined scents of sex, cum, apples, and Cas in general, were intoxicating. Every part of him tasted of forbidden fruit. Dean eventually moved to the base of his half hard cock, and the surrounding soft skin of his tummy. 

Evidence of his fight against childhood illness reached from one pelvic bone and stopped millimeters short from the other. But Dean never paused in curiosity, because scars were as natural to him as a freckle or birthmark. He kissed a path following the line from one hip bone to the other, in reverence for his strength. The pillow had taken the brunt of Cas's leaking orgasm, but plenty remained on his skin, so Dean happily took his time sweeping with his tongue, delivering kisses over each little wet spot. He finally made his way over to the softening shaft, not caring about the obvious recovery in progress. He continued pressing his tongue lightly on the skin, enveloping it in a kiss. When reaching the still engorged head he very lightly sucked and feathered kisses on it until sensitivity allowed no more.

Cas quietly sighed, pulling Dean into his arms. Both really could've used a shower, but having stayed up for so long their engines were running on fumes. They fell asleep to the beating of each other's hearts, and the warmth in their souls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the chapter was mostly smut. Yer welcome. Anyone wondering how the Sunder connection comes in to play?


	22. Chapter 22

Dean rolled over in bed; finding it empty, he almost panicked. But it was afternoon, the guy had his livelihood to look after. After a quick shower, he wondered how he could help outside. His foot touched down on the last step of the stairs and his stomach lurched from the panic he'd earlier brushed off. Where was Cas? 

Padding through the house, then the orchard, barn, and finally the garage, nauseating worry set in when discovering that not only was his supposed boyfriend missing, but the truck and his dog as well. What if Fortinbras had a vet emergency? In that case, a swift departure sans note was understandable. But in the stress of an already tense situation, a text message from Dean would put further pressure on Cas. 

Dean collected the few items he'd left in the house and fired up Baby to head home. Pulling out of the driveway, he clung to the hope he hadn't just been some lay, then felt even worse for crossing his fingers it was a vet emergency. 

Busying himself in the garage for the next several hours gave him necessary space to obsessively check his phone for messages, and needed distance from family if none came through. Dean fell asleep that night with an empty inbox and a severe ache in his heart. 

Next morning, the sting was as fresh as the day before. Drowning himself in work was the only way he knew how to conceal the broken hearted teen he felt like inside. 

He stumbled into the bunker kitchen on day four, having cycled through rejection, hurt, anger, and was stuck on numb. Dean suddenly realized he hadn't seen his brother since summoning Crowley. 

“Where've you been lately?” he yawned. 

“Helping Eileen at the orchard. I'd ask how’re you holding up since the summoning, but it's kinda obvious.”

If his brother wanted to correlate him looking like shit over their pow wow with Basil the Dungeon Demon rather than the painful truth, Dean was damn well gonna let'em. “Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful. You're not winning any beauty contests either. Looks like yer gunning for the world record without any shut eye.” 

“Uh no. Just getting my butt kicked by manual labor. With Cas gone it’s kinda put a strain on things. Did he tell you when he’d be back?”

_I wasn't aware he’d left. _Through grinding teeth he seethed, “He doesn't live in my ass.” 

He hadn't meant to let that slip. But hearing Cas had bailed on more than just him, _because of_ _him_, was a kick in the gut he couldn't _not_ react to. Dean had about two minutes or less before Sam's adjusted correlations and ass chewing would start up. He had to think fast. “I’m free until two this afternoon, she need an extra hand?” 

“Y-yeah, that’d be great. She’ll appreciate it.”

He booked it out of the kitchen and towards the garage. Helping out there would make amends, whilst ironically avoiding Sam's wrath, for now. Going anywhere near that orchard was the last thing Dean wanted to do. But he also doubted Eileen wanted the extra strain she now had at work. After all, he'd been the one who sent her business partner running for the hills. 

~*~*~*~

The orchard work Dean undertook was back breaking, yet its quiet rhythm brought a peace he'd never known, but cherished. Jim's list had included 'visit’ a beekeeper, but he'd actually found it interesting, and at twenty three years old, signed up to learn more. Eileen was thrilled Dean actually knew what the hell he was doing with the hives. Each day he suited up and changed the necessary supers and observed the queen right hives and merged hives. He marveled watching them. One in particular was in distress. A worker bee had become separated and caught in the honey soaked entrance. Other bees swarmed and worked to free him, captivating Dean with their dedication to saving family.

Each day he left at two, meeting his nine year old patient by three to hang out, make sure she was comfortable, then usually got home between three and four am. For the following three days he arrived at the orchard by ten am to lend a helping hand. No matter how tired though, he would read two journal entries before sleeping. Some made him sad, others rejuvenated, and a few intrigued him. 

_**March 1995**_:

_ Hannah and I spent Easter with Dean and his family. Can't believe how nice they are, Ellen made a sugar free jello cake that tasted so good! Sam is a really smart ten year old and Jo is feisty in the best way. If I had a sister I'd want one like her. We haven't had a holiday like this since Mom and Dad died. Miss them so much. Feels good though, almost like being a family again. _

_ **April 1995:** _

_ Walking back from Benny's, if I hadn't been right behind Dean, he would've fallen when he passed out. Can't lie, I want him in my arms, but not unless he's awake and holding me back. His heart wants to. His mind’s trying to figure out what he's feeling. Sometimes it's funny as hell throwing something out and watching him get flustered. He looks so damn cute like that. But I want his heart to be better. The pain is awful. I can feel it, how bad it is. Don't understand how I know, sometimes it scares me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Cas dun fucked up. I actually loathe hurting them. Neither have all their emotional marbles, but will Dean allow him the chance to explain? Will you?


	23. Chapter 23

The abandoned hospital room was bathed in a blue, shimmering light, making the plethora of purple eyes remarkably more clear. 

“You see Jim, I’m unique among my kind, in more ways than one. I am indeed a demon, in part, and a dealer of children.” Crowley's eyes looked as if they’d cry a river of blood, proof so far of his claims. 

“But not in the way you're sadly assuming. My ambition is to save your soul, rather than condemn it. The other demon would’ve taken no action to save this boy you love, and done unspeakable things to you until a day you'd remember neither the boy, nor yourself,” Crowley insisted.

“How do you save me if you're a demon?” 

“For those who cannot be persuaded from this path, I've created a place you must stay in for a while before your soul can go home. May I show it to you?” he politely requested.

“Yeah, but why do I have to stay there? And for how long?” Jim implored, only now expressing concern for his eternal life.

“This accord is an affront to God, and a violation of his law. Though you've summoned with the purest intentions, his law is absolute. I cannot change it. But I can offer a far more pleasant place than the one before me would've provided. The sentence is different for everyone-”

“_How long?” _Jim demanded.

“Twenty years will pass here, while for you, mere weeks. This is the punishment for the deal you intend to make. Are you certain it's what you want?” 

The severity on Jim's face convinced Crowley his resolve was iron. “Then allow me to present a glimpse of my realm. For the purpose of making an informed decision, if I may.”

Hesitantly Jim nodded, permitting Crowley to touch his left temple. His eyes became red and on his cheek appeared red spider veins. After a few moments, an expression of wonder appeared on his face, then peace. 

Satisfied Jim had gotten a good look, Crowley removed his hand..

“Th- that's nnnot what I expected,” Jim stammered, as residual emotions lingered in his eyes. 

“Jim, I promise, you will _ never _ be lonely again. Now, shall we begin?” Crowley posed, with a knowing smile.

Mischief, delight, and incredible relief shone in his eyes as Jim replied, “If that's the adventure in the brochure, where do I sign?”

Cas observed the dream as if through a wet window suddenly disappearing. He beheld a massive tree with rays of gold and sounds of elation bursting from within its trunk. This felt like the realm Crowley had shown him, how was he back? 

An oppressive silence preceded black lightning bolts dimming the sky. Cas peered through a previously lit opening. First came fretful whimpers, next a cacophony of unholy snarls within the tree, followed by shrieks of pain and terror. 

Razor sharp claws like talons pulled at the little wisps, disappearing the second their spider-like hands were full. Black marks splintered through the knots and gnarls, leaving putrid smelling ash behind. A roar of anger ripped through the atmosphere, as if the realm itself had been slashed. 

Drenched in sweat, he awakened frantically clutching his chest. Fortinbras rolled in the tent, placing his giant head on Cas's lap with a perturbed whine. If his instincts could be trusted, something terrible had occurred in Imperium Innocentia. Cas and Fort had been camping in a desolate area of Kanopolis State Park. Once his pickup was loaded, he’d torn down the off-map roads he knew like the back of his hands.

He couldn't change the past. None of it. Not that it mattered. In one reckless moment, he'd destroyed any chance of having something good and pure with someone special. Cas was done running. Dean wasn't the only person he'd hurt. He was tired of burdening his family, and himself. He called Marv, his old therapist. Knowing the solution, he vowed to begin the work, despite the probability Dean never wanted to see him again.

~*~*~*~

Sounds of frightful pleas echoed in the halls. This was Neverland, but nothing like the beloved space he remembered. Flashes of stars turning black in their descent, like comets screaming towards earth, smashed with the force of a bomb. Sharp fear was tearing gashes through him.The once joyful pirate ship was now a ghastly vessel dripping with inky water onto the jagged pyre on which it rested. It was the darkest black Dean ever saw, and could've been built from darkness and shadow, but for the rust-like flecks glinting off all sides, like a clear coat of paint over old blood. 

The sharp bowsprit bore no female silhouette or whimsical mermaid, it jutted upwards like some torture device. Merely gazing upon it triggered splotches of shape distortions across his eyes and blinding pain in his temples. Shadows ghosted in the corners of Dean's vision, faster than he could blink. With each sensation of one passing in close proximity, a shock wave of nausea wracked his body. He stumbled through the black waters covering the floor. Children's screams on deck were burning electrical currents, scorching his skin.

Was Jim here? Dean sensed him, but couldn't spot him. Charlie, Benny, and Cas were there too, fighting? Suddenly Jim's eyes were right in front of him, imploring him to help, to fight. The splashing impact from the falling stars drowned out the one voice Dean would do anything to hear one last time. Jim was making contact with these nightmarish creatures, his eyes flaring in a cerulean blue like something had ignited within him. They were too big, too close. Dean flung his arms up to shield himself. How was everything so close? But time was running out. He felt slipping; a pull from another place. Dean desperately reached for Jim across an impossible distance, a chasm of worlds.

Once awake, his heart was kicking into an uncomfortable rhythm. He trudged to the kitchen for water and heart medication. He'd had plenty of painful dreams over the years, but none of them had this tone of distress, or blatant nightmarish occurrences. Maybe resuming discussions with Donna was bringing up a much needed purge.

~*~*~*~

It was shaping up to be a full day at the orchard. Then the pager for Dean's patient’s family alerted, this was the toughest part of the job he'd chosen. 

As with all children for whom he’d bore witness to their transition, he'd carefully placed coin in her hand as he felt her slipping away. Dean silently prayed to Jim, asking him to greet another precious soul, disembarking from the ferryman's boat onto Heaven's shores.

Most of his family reacted as if he were playing with Greek fire when announcing his chosen subfield. All he knew was a passion for running in the direction most others were running from, besides the children showing more bravery in the face of death than most adults. 

Emotional decompression demanded the treadmill, then a shower. When padding down the hallway with only a thin towel around his waist, he heard low voices in the kitchen. He tiptoed along the wall, being nosey for a few seconds. 

“Benny called last night. Charlie spoke up this morning. We should call him again to be sure.” Sam's tone was strained.

“If you think that's best. I'd prefer to be present, but understand if you decide otherwise,” Castiel expressed with tension laced in his voice. 

Shit. Dean was _ not _ in shape to have it out with him this morning. And what had Benny called about? What did it have to do with Charlie?

“Of course we want you present,” he huffed, “Look, Dean's drowned himself in work recently, hiding that he's been hurt. He's tried to be happy despite carrying things he shouldn't. I don't ever want him shouldering pain because somebody didn't want to stick it out to resolve things. There's been enough of that in both your lives,” Sam carefully lectured.

“I need to talk with him. The mistake was mine, an unforgivable one.”

“He’s on the treadmill, which means things went south with a patient last night. He needs like four hours every once in a while, okay?” 

“I'll just wait here then.”

Sneaking back to his room, Dean flung himself on his bed. Part of him was desperate to hear _ why _ Cas left him. Another part was scared to find out. The part that won out was his inner petty bitch who said, _ “Screw’em. I waited eight goddamn days for an explanation, he's gonna wait another eight hours to give it.” _ Punching his pillow until it felt right, he tore off the towel so his naked ass air dried, and clocked the fuck out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy, Jimmy...what a pickle, eh? The idea of Crowley taking the vessel of a wall street investor, yet demanding payment in the currency of tales felt too good to pass up. He may just be my favorite character in this story, we'll see. I certainly hope you're entertained by this version.
> 
> Strange that the Neverlanders have all experienced something nightmarish, what could it mean?


	24. Chapter 24

Dean schlepped to the kitchen for caffeine, knowing this would be a bitch of an afternoon. Setting off in trepidation, he ventured into the library, finding Cas hunched over an alternate universe book. When looking up, his eyes were cradled by heavy, dark circles.

Seconds passed, Dean saw his tremendous struggle starting the conversation. He decided to throw him a bone. “Glad you made it back in one piece.”

“I-I should've left a note. A text. _ Something. _Still would’ve been unacceptable but, dammit. I'm sorry. And that doesn't even come close to covering it,” he acknowledged with sincerity. 

“Yes you should’ve. And no it doesn't,” Dean spoke flatly. 

Castiel's face fell in shame. “My brother would kick my ass if he knew I left you.”

“He’s got nothing to do with this. Your choices are your own. If you needed space, I'd have given it, all you had to do was ask,” Dean pointed out.

“I'm so broken Dean..” 

“Sorry, have you met me? My head’s been a mess! First thing I did after meeting you was call my therapist. When crap like this comes up, we deal with it.”

“Even after you promised you wouldn't leave me,” Cas confessed, “Everything I'd learned and experienced felt like it was crashing down around me. We still don't know who or what I am. I was afraid if it keeps happening, it’ll scare the hell out of you.”

“If I didn't run the first time-”

“You've worked for twenty years recovering from the loss of someone who never wanted to leave you for a second. And after all the abandonment I suffered, the first thing I did in this new relationship was take off.” 

“Newsflash, I know the pattern. I still signed on.”

Cas looked shocked, but remained quiet.

“You'll always have my friendship, but if you can't get beyond running at the first sign of trouble, then a relationship isn't gonna work. You _ have _ to take that chance,” Dean maintained.

“I need to work on things, even if you can't forgive me. I've called my therapist too. I'm tired of spinning my wheels in the mud,” Cas held his head in his hands, “but when processing everything, like the flashbacks, I started doubting myself and needed to make sure my feelings weren't twisted. I should've talked to you .” 

Cas contacting his therapist, despite knowing there was a good chance he'd blown the relationship, was something Dean hadn't expected. It didn't excuse anything, but was a clear gesture of accountability.

Something else needed clarification. “What do you mean twisted?”

”I've read my brother's journal more times than I can count.”

“It's pretty worn, wondered why.” 

Cas was starting to squirm, but he needed to learn Dean wouldn't cringe away from tough topics.

“I didn't want you thinking my feelings stemmed from a disturbed obsession with the journal. Aside from the tragedy, it was a beautiful storybook that brought me more comfort during hard times than you can imagine. But that's it. It's important you know this. Meeting in Ladow's shocked me, I was confused by my attraction, because I'd never thought of you in that way.”

Well, shit. Dean didn't feel as bad now for having the same inner conflict. The clarification was good because in truth, his mind had almost gone there but pushed against it to give Cas the benefit of the doubt. 

Dean sighed, “I felt the same at first. Didn't know what to do, didn't want to screw things up. But I called the person who’s helped me before. I’m glad you called yours. You're important to me, _we_ _need _to talk when stuff like this happens.”

“Can you ever forgive me?” Cas implored.

The guy really did look like an emotional trainwreck. “Yeah Cas, I forgive you. You want space, it's yours. Just tell me, and for fuck’s sake let me know you're alright.” 

Dean nodded towards the books wondering, “You get to the part where I'm full frontal yet?”

“Yeah, it sounds like a pretty unpleasant place,” Cas replied, confounded by what he'd read. 

“Tell me about it, I'm not even out. That version of dad really messed us up. He loved us, but Jesus.” 

Charlie walked in, then tried abruptly U turning, realizing what she'd interrupted. 

“Back it up buttercup,” Dean instructed.

She came back pretending everything was sunshine and rainbows.

“Spill.”

Cas and Charlie shifted vexatiously, reminded of a cringe worthy experience.

“Few of us had some bad dreams. We were gonna ask when you woke up?” Charlie cautiously delivered.

“Yeah. Completely messed up.”

“How messed up?” Sam queried, walking in late to the discussion.

“Plundering of souls messed up. Think we should call that Crowley guy again.”

Cas squirmed again. “There was an attack on Imperium Innocentia. Children were taken by things with spider hands or claws. They breached the tree, taking the souls inside it.”

Fucking Hell. It became abundantly clear an event had occurred. Everyone felt as if Jim had been trying to reach out across what? Time and space? 

“Well Cas, you've got Crowley's number. Let's make sure things are smooth for Swiss Family Robinson out there,” concluded Dean. To his satisfaction, everyone concurred. 

He scrolled through his contacts, put the speaker on and began dialing.

“Castiel, how may I be of service?” Crowley sounded as if he'd been interrupted, based on the demonic screams in the background.

Cas cringed but spoke first. “We have some questions.”

“I have some answers. You first.”

“My name’s been in my family for a few generations, there's an interesting story behind it. Is there a correlation?”

“K.U. Med Center. Fourth floor. Nurse McLeod,” Next?” Crowley rattled off as if it were a sufficient answer.

“Few of us had pretty bad dreams about Jim. Normally I'd blow them off. But sometimes, nightmares are real.” Remembering his time was limited, Dean spilled everything. 

The nephil hurriedly asked a few very specific questions about the tree, then relayed, ”I've been shredding crossroad hellions until finding one who sang like a choir boy on Devil's Night.”

“And?” Dean asked.

“Seems demons have been bribed to trap children in deals. Deals on which they knew I'd intervene.”

“Bribed by whom?” Charlie worried.

“None other than ferrymen. And now it seems _ my _ ferrymen were to skim off the top, slowly. I've been paying them handsomely, how was I to know? I’d deliver these souls to the gates myself, were I permitted!” 

“Wait, are you saying Jimmy's been missing? And the others? Why would ferrymen want souls, especially kids? You said you had a trustworthy few on a high payroll.”

“Yes, well it seems they weren't so trustworthy after all. My home. It's-it's been destroyed. Pure, raw power is what souls yield. Children even moreso. For what purpose, I'm currently endeavoring to learn.” 

Crowley's voice shook with rage, while more high pitched screaming could be heard, along with the charring of flesh.

“I really must return to interviewing for further information.” He smoothly reversed topics, “If you visit the hospital, mention the warding in your bomb-shelter-on-steroids needs securing. I'll get back to you,” and hung up.

Dean was pissed and horrified, Cas appeared on the precipice of an aneurysm from puzzling so hard. Somehow Charlie focused on the bright side. “At least you've got someone with information about your name.”

“It's seems a small matter by comparison. I feel sick knowing what I saw, what we all saw, was real.” 

Dean laced their fingers together and nodded. Cas squeezed his hand back, looking a little surprised at receiving affection so soon after his muck up. 

“Never expected him to follow through to be honest, but at least he’s making progress and getting answers. And I think you should check out your name, it'll take your mind off things until he gets back to us. I could go with you.”

“Alright.”

~*~*~*~

Later that night, Dean opened Jim's journal for another two entries.

_ **July 4, 1995** _

_ Today was the best Fourth of July I've had in a long time. The sugar free snow cones were awesome! Hannah got a job with a good laboratory and he starts tomorrow working on a medicine that will someday help other kids like me. I'm so proud of him!! _

_ Dean finally asked me to be his boyfriend and I said yes! I love hugging him so much. Can't wait for us to kiss. I'm so nervous about messing it up. Maybe he'll kiss me first? _

_**July 15, 1995**_

_ I'm so fucking scared. Dean got pneumonia then had a heart attack. I can feel it's worse. He doesn't deserve this. I have to save him! But he's so far away. Sometimes he's so far away I can't feel him at all. My prayers don't work. I have to do something. Have to give him my heart. It works alright and I'm not going to last long. Maybe Hannah or Dr. Roché will know what to do _. 

He fell asleep with the journal in his arms and tears on his cheeks.

~*~*~*~

Dean thanked the heavens Cas liked classic rock among other genres, it made for a good distraction from the garish phone call, and time flew. Before they knew it, they were on the elevator to see this nurse McLeod.

Bringing his scrubs, he used his hospice agency badge to gain access onto the unit. A kind nurse named Rachel offered assistance, swiftly returning with someone familiar and thoroughly unexpected.

“Hello boys. Dean, you look well. Steven, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Rowena issued, closing her eyes and bowing her head in reverence. 

Cas was confounded by her demeanor. “It’s Castiel now, I changed it after my discharge.”

She froze, staring at him blankly. After a split second recovery, she announced, “Quite the unusual name, however did you come by it?”

“It's been in my adoptive family for years. We were directed to you for information.”

Rowena was taken aback. “Well, yes, but this is hardly the place for discussions of such history. There's a lovely little spot nearby, the Mockingbird Lounge. Can yae meet me there for dinner?”

“That's fine,” Dean replied.

A few hours later they were sitting with Rowena at the lounge. 

“What would you like to know?” 

“My father told me about its significance to his family. But there's additional correlation between the name and someone else, possibly in another universe?”

Rowena appeared intrigued while given the rundown.

“I’ll tell you what I can.” She finished her scotch and called over the barkeep. “Two prime rib dinners, another round of whatever they're having, and a bottle of your best absinthe, if you please.” 

“We already have a long drive tonight, but thank you,” Cas politely refused the alcohol.

“I know of the angel Castiel. When I say she, I'm referring to her vessel, she/he are pronouns only your species requires.”

“I remember reading that, how do you know Castiel? Were you involved in what happened with Lily Sunder?” Dean wondered. 

“No. She was under the command of my brother, Ishim.”

“Is that the guy who murdered Lily and Ako-..”

“Akobel.” Rowena shut her eyes, unpleasantly confirming. “My brother broke our most sacred oath, falling in love with a human. When she refused him, he became enraged. Akobel stayed to protect Lily and her daughter.”

“But he found her obviously,” Dean concluded.

“Ishim lied to those in his command, convincing them her daughter was a nephil. Only Castiel questioned Ishim.” 

“Then the fight ensued?” Cas presumed.

“Aye. She'd pleaded to verify before blindly killing an innocent. My monster of a brother refused. Castiel killed him, and nearly everyone else. Though she couldn't save Akobel or Lily.”

“No offense, he sounds like a dick who had it coming,” Dean blurted out.

“None taken. May saw the whole thing. Her assumption was correct, Castiel was an angel.”

“If you weren't there, how do you know so much?” Cas wanted to know.

“The second I felt my brother ripped from his vessel and tossed into the void, I found the one who escaped. When our paths fortuitously crossed, knowing both my vessel and I by reputation, she sang before I lay a finger on her.”

“What'd you do?” Dean prompted, as the humongous steak dinners were laid out before them.

“I cast a cloaking spell on both, following until May was safe with family, keeping an eye on her from time to time. Like tension on a string, I knew when Castiel visited for her piece of mind.”

“And when May turned eighteen?”

“The visits stopped. May had grown tae love the angel. One night soon after their goodbye, I checked in. She was asleep, dreaming of their parting. Castiel seemed extremely sad. I never knew why.”

“So what happened to her? Is she still around?” Cas queried.

Rowena lazily glanced at Cas, “I'd like tae know as well. There was a meteor shower a week after May's eighteenth birthday. It's been quiet ever since.”

“So she went dark for almost a hundred years?”

“In a sense.” She knocked back her drink, already having consumed enough to put André the Giant on his ass.

Rowena was in no mood to wind down and it was a rare opportunity to obtain useful information. Dean discovered a text from Cas with a link to an unconfirmed room reservation for the night and swiftly replied YES. 

“Could she still be around?”

“Mmm aye. Dinnae kin, mibay. Shan really, int it? I'm a bit of a rebel myself. Would’ve been nice to know another.”

“Let me ask you something,” Dean directed, “can we trust this Crowley guy? How do _ you _know him?” 

Rowena’s demeanor turned inward, as if reminded of a sore wound.“I dinnae about Crowley, he's a vessel. But my son Fergus was a bastart. And it was my doin’.”

“Your son?” 

She looked down in her lap. “I blamed him for his father abandoning me, when he was just a wee bairn. 

Absorbing their frozen faces, she quickly pounded another shot. “Wouldnae sold his soul if he'd had a proper mother's rearing. So many chances I had to fix things! But a nod's guid as a wink tae a blind horse.” 

“But he's forgiven you, if you work together?” Cas tried breaking the awkward silence.

“When I felt him here again, he'd wanted nothing to do with me, nae matter how hard I tried tae make amends.”

“I'm sorry. I'd give anything to tell my birth mother she's forgiven.”

“How did you get to speaking terms?” Dean carefully prodded.

“I monitor for children desperate enough to deal, and call for intervention. He allows me tae provide caur tae the wee children because it aligns with his own work. But I'm not to expect or hope for his forgiveness, as it will never be granted.”

Dean wondered how he'd found himself listening to a witch-angel-peds-nurse-mother-to-a-nephil-demon-guardian buzzed to the nines on absinthe, bemoaning her maternal woes? 

“Your eyes, they're so distinct. Forgive me, but how many eyes do you _ really _have?” whispered Cas.

Rowena leaned against the back of her chair, a soft purple glow appearing inside her irises. A knowing smile gently raised her cheeks; there was a beauty and relief to this reveal. A shimmering bubble enveloped their immediate space, though no one outside the bubble seemed to notice.

Large almond shaped eyes, three on each side, glowed a deep purple.

_ Tension on a string indeed. _

Extending to the ceiling were two sets of wings hosting eyes countless in number. Each eye shimmered with a luminescent tether disappearing to a destination unknown. Resting above her head, within an inverted v-shaped halo, were sets of wheels within wheels, continuously spinning.

“A Wheel of God, a Throne.” Cas gasped, “Ophanim.”

“My, aren't you observant,” Rowena remarked. Her voice now rang with the hint of bells and windchimes to every movement she made, which tugged on an ethereal string. “It's nice to be noticed.”

“More eyes than humans can count, in answer to your question. They're everywhere, at all times.” 

“You saved Jim from that awful demon, didn't you?”

Rowena silently bowed her head, communicating the honor she felt having helped someone special, someone related to Cas, whom she also held in immensely high regard.

“I’d like to help,” she stated as she returned to normal and the bubble disappeared.

“Crow-Fergus, asked us to have you check the warding sigils on our home.”

“If ye can send me pictures I'll advise on the necessary adjustments for maximum protection. Even against us,” she offered, calling for the check.

“His brother Sam will text them to you. I appreciate the information and the care you've provided.”

“My pleasure.” She texted Cas her number, bowing again.

“Do you need a ride home?” Cas noticed aside from her vessel's “auld” native slang slipping out, she'd been holding her liquor like a celestial champ.

“Och, Aam nae steamin’! And even if so, ae can bring myself home an reit back with the snap ay my fingers. Mind Samuel remembers the sigils.” She daintily waved, disappearing in the rain right before their eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well. A Throne of God. Lore says this specific tier of angel likes to chill in Nebula's, star nursery's, nurturing the beginning processes of life. I've considered that in canon, Rowena might actually be an Ophanim given we know she is something more than witch, but what precisely, is unclear. The irony of a nurturing nature against her canonical Motherhood was too funny to ignore. 
> 
> Have I complicated things with the Sunder family? Will the mystery be solved?
> 
> And Cas, have we forgiven him yet? It was not alright for him to leave Dean. But I hope you understand why he did it, and that he absolutely has committed himself to his own betterment and healing.


	25. Chapter 25

Forty five minutes later the warmth of a crackling fire welcomed them in the room Cas booked at the Farmhouse B & B. Dean's eyes twinkled at the enormous four poster bed. 

Laughing at the large, sepia photograph by the huge clawfoot tub of two smiling cowboys, he admitted, “This is nice Cas, thanks.” 

Closing his eyes for a while, Cas listened to the rumbling thunderstorm outside. The satisfying pops from the fire combined with the sharp scent of fresh rain called to him. Cold fingertips on his cheek tenderly drew his gaze to the man suddenly so close.

The physical touch was a matchlight within, yet tonight he longed only to bring pleasure and comfort, the degree to which Dean would decide. Two soft green forests pleaded for affection, although he sensed not even Dean could gage what kind and how much he desired. Hurt still lingered behind his eyes, Cas poignantly felt it and yearned to kiss it all away. 

Yet it wasn't that simple. He of all people understood, time and consistent rebuilding of trust was needed to repair the damage he'd done. No matter how much resuming therapy would pain him, Castiel knew deep in his bones how rare and precious Dean truly was. He was worth every second of the difficulty ahead because he made him not only want to be a better person, but motivated him to take the healthy, necessary steps on his own to do it. 

He burned with need to take care of the man who always cared for others, and held the chilly hand against his face. Leaning in, he deliberately brushed his cheek with ginger kisses, then removed their wet clothing. Dean gave him the raised eyebrow of curiosity, at him layering the large plush chair by the fire and ottoman he'd pushed together, with blankets.

“Skin to skin by the fire will warm us faster.”

Leading him to the chair and ottoman, brilliant green eyes stood out in the darkened room all the more, watching him kiss every feather on every wing of his tattoo. He loved having those eyes on him, adored every jump and gasp issued from his attention.

Dean mumbled, “My skin's never been this sensitive. Sorry.” 

“No apologies.” Cas closed his mouth around a nipple and gently sucked. Dean’s knees buckled under the intense sensations. Falling back into the chair, running his hands through Cas’s raven mane, he urged him to continue. 

Deftly kissing his way to the other nipple, Dean jolted again at the contact. 

“Sure you're alright?” 

Dean yanked him up for a kiss, to feel all of their skin touching. Barely gruffing out in between their lips crashing together, “Not sure..what's different..but..don't stop...whatever.. it..is yer doin'.”

The fire snapped and Cas felt Dean vehemently press his beautifully hard cock against him. Leaving a trail of wet kisses down his chest and stomach like trickling water over a parched landscape, every inch of Dean's skin was begging to be caressed. Cas noticed the most insistent stretch of inches already drenched from his swollen, leaking head. 

An insatiable mouth greedily consumed the precum and momentarily lingered to tease, then continued south, skillfully switching back and forth from tugging to sucking each swollen ball. He thoroughly enjoyed Dean's inability to still, or remain silent. One hand gripped the arm rest, the other the cushion above his head as he panted, whined, and undulated in pleasure. 

“Th- that's so, so good Cas. Uhh keep it up.”

His skin violently flushed, and against the shadows of dancing flames, Cas could almost swear the stunning tattooed feathers cascading down Dean's abdomen rippled with each flick of his tongue up the long shaft of his cock.

He reached out, unsurprised at feeling nothing extraordinary, save Dean's taut skin. And yet he loved how fingers immediately found and laced themselves between his own. It was as if Dean feared floating away and so tethered himself to the very thing making him fly. Cas's other hand was everywhere, stroking him perfectly in time with his hot mouth sucking down nearly the full length of his dick. Then it was lower, cupping, pressing, and kneading the heavy weights below. 

He wanted to draw out this precious rain of torture forever, but the choice wasn't his. How could Cas possibly say no to this amazing soul begging to come so beautifully through body language alone? He reached for the other hand, and as it was given, so was permission for Dean to move as he wished. Cas was beyond pleased how he took advantage of his mouth, plunging himself in deep and quick.

“S-stay, sstay right there, ungh, Jeesus Cas, keep sucking my head hard like that..yeah..oh Fff-”

Overwhelmed by his own emotions and those rolling off of Dean, he did precisely as he was told and was rewarded with powerful surges of cum down his throat. He groaned in euphoria, impressed and turned on as hell with the sheer volume of release. Cas was letting Dean give him every drop he had and kept on sucking until once more he was pulled up.

“Mmm. Kiss me, Cas.”

The tongue swiftly darting around Cas's own was hungrily searching, exploring, which made Dean's sinful sounds of extreme contentment all the more hot. They fell into a blissfully unhurried pace, Cas _ loved _ Dean's kissing, he was so goddamn good at it. When a well intended hand walked down Cas's tum, endeavoring to reciprocate, guilt crept in at how crestfallen Dean looked upon hearing the word ‘no.’ 

“But that was awesome, c'mon. Lemme give you a happy ending too. _ Please._”

“I promise a rain check. Your ending was seriously impressive, which already made me _ very _happy,” Cas assured.

Dean seemed reluctant, but searched his face for a reason and Cas made sure he found the truth; a gratified lover at peace. 

“What _ do _you want?” Dean asked with sincerity.

Unable to conceal his apprehension, he looked down. Soft, sweeping lips tempted and emboldened him to answer. “I’ve known my brother through my dads, and both of you through his journal. He loved you so much, if it's overstepping-”

“You want to know your brother through me.”

Cas's eyes begged forgiveness, for any pain which might resurface in recalling the boy who'd given him his heart in more ways than one.

“Never wanted to give the impression by bringing him up that I compare you. You're the only person so far I've really wanted to talk about him with. I did _ not _ expect to do it curled up naked with you beside a roaring fire.”

“That makes two of us.”

Dean threw a spare blanket over their lower halves, affectionately rubbed their noses together, and tugged him close, ”Whaddya wanna know?”

The smile from Cas was a ray of sunshine, the adorable nose crinkle tugging his heart strings. This was the precise comfort he'd hoped to bring since recovering from their emotionally calamitous run-in weeks earlier. 

“Anything. Whatever you're able to talk about.”

“Your brother was the biggest smart ass I'd ever met, besides yours truly. Bitch did a total Lazarus on me with his sarcastic attitude. He was the only one who gripped me tight and pulled my ass from the perdition pity party I'd been torturing myself with for weeks…”

As they talked, laughed, and even cried long into the night, neither noticed the crackling from the wood settling into more patterned pops, as if it were something you could set a clock by.

~*~*~*~

Several times during their journey home Dean thought of more silly moments with Jim to share. And whenever he'd laugh mid story, the sound was music to Cas's ears. 

“Have you gotten to the part yet where he says you fart in your sleep? I swear to God I'd never heard of anybody thinking that was cute until he wrote about it,” Cas snorted.

“What? No! What can I say? Even my farts are adorable,” Dean chortled. 

He was reminded of when he'd said he was adorable around Jim, who surprisingly happened to agree and was struck with the realization that with this memory, he was heartily laughing about their time together without pain. And Cas had given that to him. 

Wiping away the tears, not caring if they were from laughter or joy at _ finally _ being able to recall these memories, like Jim had said, _ “Without hurting like it does now,” _ Dean plowed right ahead in the conversation. 

“For real though, hospital grade laxatives are no joke. We both got pretty windy at times.”

Cas roared, “I remember! It's all shits and giggles, until someone giggles and shits.”

Dean was in a hyperventilating fit at that point. “Jimmy and I got so tired of it we'd play Russian Roulette: The Noxious Edition. It was all fun and games, _ especially _ when one of us lost.”

With both of them laughing their asses off, the trip home was quick. With a kiss goodbye, Dean was dropped off in the lightest mood since he could remember. When gliding light footed into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks in sheer shock and embarrassment.

Eileen was spread out on the breakfast table in pale pink pajamas, the tendrils of her hair dragging through two bowls of half eaten oatmeal, and both legs wrapped around a gargantuan moose about to rip her shirt off in the throes of passion.

Sam clued in on his presence and paused, dripping oatmeal from his own mane.

“Don't stop on my account,” Dean signed, “guess pajamas can be fun after all.”

“What?” Sam asked, wiping hair out of his beet red face.

“Do us all a favor and bleach the table when yer done?”

Snagging some coffee, he fled to his room, where a frazzled looking unexpected visitor awaited him, sitting in his desk chair. He jumped and almost lost his caffeine.

“Last time we spoke, I seem to remember you expressing a modicum of concern over Jim, were you not?”

Dean asked imploringly, “Tell me you found'em _ please.” _

“Found something. A plot’s been on the board now for centuries. If successfully carried out, it’ll tip the balance, potentially ending us all.” Crowley was angrily rambling to himself now, clearly on the edge of his own sanity.

Dean tried to soothe him. “Alright, alright. Calm yer tits. Nobody's blaming you-”

“I_'m _ blaming me! My _ children _are missing!”

Dean brimmed with anger. “Who’s gonna end us all?"

Crowley's eyes flared in violent anger as he spat a reply. “The High Ferryman, Charon.”

Endless seemed his guilt for the violation of his realm and the precious souls therewithin. Infinite and infernal were the embers of rage stoking for the entity entrusted with every soul's journey to the afterlife. Retribution would be his.

Dean flinched, “Charon, _ THE _ Ferryman?” It was extremely odd for him to hear the revered entity's name roll off someone’s tongue with such disdain. 

Crowley gifted him a bored expression of, ”_Who the fuck else would it be?” _

“He means to overthrow Death. I needn’t elaborate on the perils which this world faces, with someone willing to orchestrate the desperation and willingness of children, stealing them for a most unholy purpose.”

"Why does he want souls so badly?”

“I'm informed he has his quota and now he’ll amplify each soul’s power tenfold. They'll become a fluffy white package of ‘Chernobyl ate Nagasaki the morning after,’ tick tocking and all. Dean, I swear on my eternal life I'll find Jim and the others.”

The nephil's eyes suddenly locked on to something, somewhere far far away in surprise. And with a brilliant crimson flash Crowley was gone.

Dean wanted to trash his room in anger. Twenty goddamn years it'd taken him to reconcile his past, and that had been based on the assumption Jim was at least in heaven at peace. He didn't know what to do with this news, he sure as hell couldn't talk about it with Donna. 

Calling Cas, he told him everything, then drove over and helped him with catch up work, mostly so neither were alone. And because manual labor had a beautiful way of fatiguing one's self to the point of dreamless sleep, which at that point both were in desperate need of. 

Despite their growing frustration, they found themselves trusting Crowley more and more. They only hoped he'd come through with this major win. 

~*~*~*~

Over the next several weeks, there was complete radio silence from Jim and Crowley. Cas's intermittent deal dreams persisted, albeit with less frequency. Dean and the rest of the Neverlanders cautiously adopted the philosophy, “No news is good news.” 

After a few weeks of therapy with Marv, Cas decided it was time to fill in the paranormal blanks of his life with Hannah and Balthazar. Dean felt it heralded growth and was actually relieved, when hearing Cas preferred Sam go with him, in case specific questions arose he couldn't answer. Sam jumped at the chance to provide support, pleased Cas placed such trust in him. 

Afterwards, Dean was ecstatic when Cas told how they'd witnessed him healing creatures over the years and simply viewed it an admirable quality, and for his sake, one best left quietly appreciated. He'd broken down in tears when realizing they’d known all along he was different and chose to love him rather than fear him.

Dean discovered Cas had studied Jujitsu. Jo studied multiple arts to stay safe in her line of work. So a few nights a week they sparred in the dungeon, honing their skills, undoubtedly lending to Dean quickly developing a kink for defensive techniques in the bedroom.

December arrived with snow flurries and smiles. The bunker was hosting Christmas and even Benny declared he'd be present. Christmas Eve morning even Dean admitted the bizarre, beloved home resembled a holiday Dreamland, and felt like it too. 

John and Ellen had fiercely maintained if their children were loved, respected, and happy, it mattered not whom they chose in life. They adored Eileen and Cas immediately upon introduction, and were heartened to reconnect with Hannah and Balthazar. When Benny arrived he brought Andrea, who'd briefly returned from her deployment in the Middle East, serving on the U.S.S. Lincoln. 

A whirlwind of last minute errands claimed half the guests, leaving all Neverlanders at the bunker, finishing preparations for the much anticipated evening ahead.

As Charlie, Jo, Dean, and Cas readied the library for the buffet, conversation flowed with the hysterical antics of Harvelle-Winchester Christmases past. After decorating the tables with Eileen's beautiful handmade centerpieces, Dean and Cas moved from the tables to cherish a quiet moment.

“Merry Christmas Dean,” Cas rejoiced.

The timbre of his voice was a blanket to Dean, enveloping him like the soft glow of lights swirling around the tree beside them.

Years had passed since he'd invested wholeheartedly in the spirit of the season. Meeting Cas had tested his strength and hard work. Yet they'd miraculously managed to stitch together the broken pieces of each other through patience, understanding, and forgiveness. He kissed Cas with a slow, simmering passion, forever grateful he existed. 

A most unexpected sentiment from the guy he'd never expected to fall for tumbled out in quiet waves, brimming with sharp emotion.

“I love you, so so much.”

The words were bolts of lightning, striking Dean's guarded, dormant heart. The trust he knew it took for Cas to declare those words left him in speechless awe, shattering an illusion he'd been clinging to for twenty years.

Jim's body was terminally ill before they'd even met, but his courage to love and be loved in equal measure gave him months of happiness he never would've otherwise found. Cas's heart had been broken, healed, shattered, and somehow pieced together again, before they'd even met. But his courage to love and be loved in equal measure in just a few months had yielded a self acceptance and faith in others never before permitted. 

As if a spell had been broken, Dean suddenly understood his love was not what he'd tragically believed. He'd learned from Jim true love was real, and from Cas that it can strengthen you in places you thought were beyond repair. He was trying to dig deep, and quickly too, given the crushing heartache spreading across Cas's face. The words were moving from his throat, they were nearly out, when a massive sound of a crash boomed on the tables behind them.

Both found the centerpieces destroyed. Replacing them was the putrefying stench of dripping black goo, and smoke rising in menacing tendrils from a human form, cringing in the fetal position. 

“Goddammit Crowley! Eileen spent days working on those! Get your Zegna tailored ass off the poinsettias!!” Dean shouted.

“Dean! He's really hurt!” Sam shouted back, having rushed in to investigate.

Crowley's body wracked with sickening coughs and gags. He trembled, trying to push himself up. 

“The souls,” he rasped. 

“What?” Sam asked.

“Souls! So many more, taken!” 

Dean begged in alarm. “What do you mean, Crowley? Tell us what you know!” 

As Crowley sat upright, removing his green pocket square to wipe all the icky WTF from his mouth, he choked in a pained tone, “The bastarttt-Cc*cough*-haron. He's impriso-*wheez* them! In Chaos!”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tension before the climax! To Hell with stupid cupid already! Poor Dean just can't seem to catch a break in confessing his heart, in any universe apparently. 
> 
> Chaos. Admittedly, it was Eileen who inspired the seedling idea where much of the rising action of this tale occurs. Chaos seemed to feed limitless possibilities, one of which you find later. But what the heck has happened to Crowley? Might he have more tales to tell? Let's find out...


	26. Chapter 26

“Chaos? Didn't Rowena update our sigil security to ‘you’ proof this place?” Sam demanded.

“C-call my mmother. Call her _ now-*wheez* nn-ugh.” _

“Do it.” Dean softened, figuring Crowley must be suffering grievously if requesting assistance from Mommy Dearest. 

As Sam dialed, Crowley still coughed and smoked. Dean wondered what in God's name had him still roasting and tenderized on the library tables.

“Had her *cough*, create, a back-k, gaaaaurrgh, back door, for emergenciesss.”

Eileen spotted Crowley from the hall and ran to him. 

“Hello dear, h-gaargh”

“What can I get you?”

“Just water please. Thank, cughhh, you- too kind.” Crowley's lungs sounded as if they were deteriorating the more he spoke.

Rowena arrived, alarmed at Crowley's condition, she rattled off a list of ingredients to Charlie. They briefly departed into a guest room for a mother's healing touch. As Sam and Jo helped clean up the tables, Dean felt an emptiness growing between himself and Cas. He _ had _ to know the truth, and Dean needed to say it.

Once again he was a nervous teenager trying to kiss his boyfriend, and stupid cupid had teamed up with the fate fairy to thwart him. 

Rowena announced, “Fergus’s injuries are dressed, although some will take more time to completely resolve.”

“I imagine you'd like an explanation for my intrusion.” Crowley limped slightly. Still suffering nasty, excruciating burns on his hands and face, he managed to seat himself at the table.

Eileen brought him a tall glass of ice water. 

“Thank you my dear. You're my favorite human by the way.”

Dean surmised Crowley would adopt her if he could. “Where’ve you been?” He noticed a painful headache coming on. 

“My injuries are the result of a solo reconnaissance, to learn what I'd be up against, trying to retrieve the souls. The few souls I could find are with Abbadon and Ramiel, for now.”

“You took the souls of children on a field trip to Hell, now Abbadon and Ramiel are playing Adventures in Babysitting?!"Jo shrieked.

“Jo what the f-” Dean started.

“World's ending..._please.._I require..your help…listen you morons!” Crowley slammed his fists on the table in a controlled, emotional detonation setting off rippling earthquake-like aftershocks. Suddenly-their attention, he fucking had it. 

“Where was I?”

“Satanic daycare," Jo smart assed.

“You dare insult the Queen and her husband, _ Winchester_? She's played no small part in saving yer brother's life,” Rowena pointed at Dean, “dinnae cast aspersions upon that which yae don't understand!” 

Jo flinched from Rowena's sudden fury.

Crowley dropped his head, shaking it on the table. When lifting it, violent blood red eyes stared back, burning like the depths of Hell were pouring out of them. Adorning his head, a ring of shiny black flames flickered. A Crown of Horns, dozens upon dozens in varying length, sprung from the base of each flame, in direct mockery of the Crown of Thorns. A sheen of blood sweat became visible in the patches of burns still healing on his face.

“Will you all, stow your proverbial shit and listen?! A few days ago, my suspicions of their location were confirmed. Of course Charon would choose such antiquated familiarity.”

“Where has he taken all your souls? Did you find out why Charon wants to overthrow Death?” Charlie asked. 

“Immortals have a station in life, just as humans do. For most, it's a position for all eternity. High Ferryman was such an appointment, originally. Charon of Greece apprenticed under Cherti of Egypt. Cherti apprenticed under Aken, also of Egypt. Aken apprenticed under Nergal, the original Ferryman from Mesopotamia.” 

Dean's irritation flared. A history lesson amidst the current crisis was anything but productive. “Doesn't sound permanent.”

“I’m getting to that! Abel, Nergal's first fare, was unaware of hosting the transferred sin of the First Murder, wrought upon him by his brother. It’d seeped into his soul like the blood soaking his shirt, under the dripping blade of Cain. Unbeknownst to Nergal, this fare would yield a curse upon him, and the station of Ferryman itself.” 

Dean needed answers. “What does it have to do with Charon?” 

“Charon’s clearly fallen under the curse, it's already influenced his judgement as proof he's resorted to such diabolical measures to maintain his powerful position.”

“How did Charon and Nergal get this curse to begin with?” Eileen politely prompted.

“A bribe had yet to be determined, Abel had nothing to offer. So Nergal asked for his story.” 

Dean realized Cas was glaring at Crowley with infernal rage, but was taken by surprise when he flew from his seat to shred him.

“You son of a bitch! You profited from my brother’s story of love and sacrifice?!“ 

“How dare- I WOULD NEVER!” Crowley returned fire.

Suddenly Cas was in a backwards flight across the room via Rowena, and hit against the entry frame of the War Room. His head cracked, blood from his wound sprayed four feet up the wall above him. Moving too fast for human eyes to track, she was suddenly by his side healing him. 

“NO!!!!” Dean and Crowley yelled at once.

Dean raced over, but by the time he was kneeling beside Cas he was already sitting up, and within seconds readying to stand. 

“Cas?” Dean frantically asked.

“I'm fine. Calm down.”

“I-I'm sorry. I've forgotten myself. Please forgive me,” she softly begged. She faced Crowley, who Dean thought looked ready to send her to oblivion right there, were he not leaning on the table for necessary support.

The Ophanim knelt before him and reproachfully whispered,_“_Dh'fhàillig mi tha thu airson an turas mu dheireadh. Slaodach no luath, an roghainn a tha thu ri dhèanamh.” 

Crowley seemed to be dithering over which thumb screws to apply in later torment for her transgression. “Cuir cron air a-rithist agus tha mi a 'gealltain Ifrainn An rud as Miosa Cràdh airson na ùine co-ionann ri sin do aois fhìor. Tha fios agad dè a th'ann tha e na sheasamh a chall. Cò tha mi seasamh a chall. A bheil sinn, Màthair?” 

“Aye.” She isolated herself beside a bookshelf under the Samurai swords.

Crowley glowered at Cas with excruciating emotional injury, sorrow bleeding from him in waves. “I profit from nothing but the knowledge I'm savin-,” he stuttered, trying to regain control of his feelings when remembering his beloved, ethereal haven was no more. “I_ tried_ saving children from the same horrific fate, to which I myself succumbed!” 

Seeing a few tears of blood stream down Crowley's face while he fought to explain himself, Dean realized he’d been too harsh on him. 

“I collect their stories, because they have nothing, just as I had nothing. Within their tales reside the purest love, the brightest hope for another’s salvation. And I take each tale, transforming the invaluable love and hope into prayer. Then offer that prayer to the Guardian of Purgatory.” 

_ Jim. _Yet again, immense love and simultaneous guilt swelled and pitched inside Dean. 

“I retain no such hope for myself. My unspeakable deeds render me unable to be so deserving. I submit them so a creature, who never asked to be born yet became damned at birth anyways, might earn redemption. I offer these most valuable prayers so that human souls, violated and turned in life to an unjust fate, might find their way home. And I chose the currency of stories in remembrance of the First Story, as from it, the First Bond was made.” 

“The First Story? First Bond?” Jo asked.

“Nergal watched grief and guilt seize Abel over his part in the ordeal with Cain, listened to his gripping realization that making amends and living happily was stolen from him.”

This wasn’t helping alleviate Dean's anxiety levels about his past with Jim, and his potential lack of future with Cas from vital truth left unspoken.

“Nergal fell deeply in love. When arriving on heaven's shore, Abel refused to enter, confessing his own undying..bla blah blah.” Crowley sipped his tea, coughed, then continued. “Adam and Eve were a forced bond, which yielded the First Sin. Cain and Abel shared a familial bond, broken by the First Murder. Nergal and Abel were the First Profound Bond, created of free will and love.”

_ Fuck. My. Life. _ were the words running through Dean's head at that moment, as his heart rate was increasing. 

“Heaven blessed their union which was honorable for thousands of years. Yet, Abel hadn’t forgiven himself. The belief he was so undeserving of absolution spread to Nergal. Their love was sealed and Cain's sin was irrevocably sealed with them. Hence the curse. 

_ Not foreboding at all._ “What happened?” Dean prompted.

“Nergal went mad, causing death and destruction, devastating the balance. Abel followed. To preserve the purity of the position, the High Ferryman is now allotted a three millennia term before the chosen goes 'Wreck it Ralph.'” 

“So,” Dean left hanging.

“Time to impeach.”

“I'll go with you.” Rowena wasn't asking, she was telling. No matter the outcome, he wouldn't be alone. 

Crowley nodded, then addressed the Neverlanders.

“I ask this of you, for the children whose deaths you noticed and cared enough to look for answers where no one else dared. I request your help for Jim, because your dear friend is in great peril. Each of you possess abilities that’ll up chances of saving Jim and the other souls.”

“I’m in,” Dean promised. 

“Me too,” committed Cas.

“You know we're going,” volunteered Charlie for both herself and Jo.

“‘Course I’m here for Jim. What abilities we talkin’ about here?” Benny prodded. 

“Little is known about Chaos. Some entered, few have returned, but did so with nonsensical ramblings.”

Jo and Sam leaned in; abnormal characteristics and behaviors always garnered their interest.

“There's a security system of rings, like those around Saturn, a moving maze around the center. Each ring contains different perils or challenges.”

“What kind of perils?” Eileen asked.

“The architect preferred the element of surprise, but should you join us, I believe you'll be of particularly vital importance,” Crowley politely elucidated, awaiting her reply.

“Castiel and his dads are my family, that includes Jim.” 

He tried hiding the relief spreading across his face, but failed. “Charlie, you have a knack for puzzles, do you not?” 

“Always have.”

“Cryptograms?”

Jo snorted, “She can solve them in her sleep.”

“Excellent. Miss Jo March, be a dear, bring those knives, would you? Mother can give them a little _ je ne sais quoi.” _

Jo had never gotten rid of that twitch in her arm to throw shit, and happily complied.

Sam was curious, “What about me, Benny, and Cas?” 

Vaguely replying to all three, he stared at Cas with odd intensity, “Whatever abilities you possess will be amplified once inside. If you've been unaware of them, I urge you to maintain an acute, physical awareness of yourselves at all times. You’ll be operating on instinct with far greater precision than ever before-”

“Instinct to what? Hulk out or something?” Dean wondered in mild horror.

Ignoring the interruption he continued, “If you're so much as twitching to do something unfamiliar- don't think, don't fight against the instinct, just act. It’ll mean the difference between all of us coming back, or only some. Am I clear?”

Benny appeared highly uneasy with the term ‘instinct’, but there was nothing short of indomitable allegiance in his posture.

Dean turned to find Cas had vanished and B lined it for the hall corridor, beginning his search. He found him leaning against the island in the kitchen, his posture hunched and indicating he wanted to retreat into himself and shut down. 

“Cas I-” 

“Ah, here you are. It's imperative you understand what you're up against since you're El Capitan of navigation, so to speak.” Crowley was instantaneously aware he'd interrupted something heavy. 

“'M gonna do what now?” _ Please God, NO. I just need a few minutes alone with Cas. Then I'll recalibrate and process more news. _

“Navigate, steer, guide, lead, savvy?”

Jesus Christ, if he didn't get to resolve this with Cas he was going to explode. “Can I just talk to Cas for a minute?”

“I'm afraid not. It's time to leave and you should know a few things beforehand.”

Cas started for the hall. Dean touched his arm as he passed. It stiffened, as if on the precipice of recoil, then he smiled in reassurance, but to Dean it looked alarmingly wrong. That sensation when grabbing his arm had been laced with a stark vision flowing through him on contact of a battered ship in an island's bay. Its stern yanked with each toss and pitch, attempting to maneuver away from where it was trapped. Dean was the anchor desperately clinging to its purpose; what it yearned to do. And Cas, the battered vessel, silently roaring it was better to run aground, wrecking on the shoals than remain a ghost ship, eternally tethered and unable to find peace on perpetually tumultuous waters. 

Dean was dying inside, while the vision settled as water logged flowers cast off for those lost at sea. The words Cas needed to hear had been a nanosecond away, forever silenced by Crowley's arrival, and with it Dean's chance of making the pivotal correction course. Any attempts now would seem grossly disingenuous, and cause further damage by insulting his intelligence. 

“It’s fine. We need all the information we can get.” 

Dean realized he'd witnessed the last hope Cas had been clinging to, of finding a person he could trust his heart with, perish once and for all. Watching Cas leave the room, Dean's stomach weathered its own emotional squall. The hope of saving Jim's soul, just as he'd saved his life, was the only thing keeping him focused.

“His eyes were the blue of forget-me-not, and a profound melancholy,“ Crowley quoted.

“Why me?” Dean abruptly changed the subject. “I've never been there, how would I know where to go, let alone guide anyone else?”

“Oh but you have. Once in a while, a soul on the brink of death can be temporarily swept up, or snagged in the adjacent realm. Chaos constantly storms and spins along the veil, you were caught in an overlap of worlds, remaining for a short time.”

“When was this?”

“When your pneumonia triggered the heart attack. Ever have dreams of storms and winds, confusion?”

“They're just dreams. They don't mean anything.”

Crowley's face grew dark as he placed his hand on his chest. “Has just a dream protected you all these years?”

Dean realized his mouth was the Atacama Desert. 

“You were moving between realms when sliding from those static periods of pitch black to weathering the storm. Repeated visits decreased the disorientation, until you became the storm, and eventually the eye of it. It'll be like riding a bike.”

Dean would go to Hell and back to save Jim, but he highly doubted Chaos would yield that easily, based on how Crowley looked upon his grand entrance.

All stood in the library after quickly preparing. A pitiful excuse for a note was all they could leave for their families. 

Dean asked, “How are we getting there?” 

“I’ll teach you to how to jump on the wind’s back, and then away we go.“ 

Crowley was met with silence and curious faces. 

“Fine then, any happy little thoughts?”

Rowena took pity, reaching out to the group. “Fergus and I will take you there, hold my hands.”

Most were hesitant; right away she remembered why.

“I can vouch for her. Come on now, we must be going.” Crowley grabbed Sam, Eileen, and Benny. Rowena took Cas, Dean, Charlie, and Jo, then they disappeared into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't overwhelmed you with the history lesson, have i? It was so fun weaving my passion for antiquity into this story within a story. And more still await! Dean and Cas must as well, as surviving the journey through Chaos will take all the attention and energy the Neverlanders possess.
> 
> "His eyes were the blue of forget-me-not, and a profound melancholy." -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan  
"I’ll teach you to how to jump on the wind’s back, and then away we go." -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan  
"Any happy little thoughts?" -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
> 
> **Scottish Gaelic**  
Dh'fhàillig mi tha thu airson an turas mu dheireadh. Slaodach no luath, an roghainn a tha thu ri dhèanamh//I have failed you for the last time. Slow or swift, the choice is yours
> 
> Cuir cron air a-rithist agus tha mi a 'gealltain Ifrainn An rud as Miosa Cràdh airson na ùine co-ionann ri sin do aois fhìor. Tha fios agad dè a th'ann tha e na sheasamh a chall. Cò tha mi seasamh a chall. A bheil sinn, Màthair?// Harm him again and I promise Hell’s Worse Torment for the duration of time equal to that of your true age. You know what he stands to lose. Whom I stand to lose. Are we crystal Mother?


	27. Chapter 27

The first sensation breaking through for Dean was freezing cold. He blinked, finding he was in a forest. Heart racing, he counted, then sighed in relief that everyone made it, wherever ‘there’ was. Wait, someone was missing. 

“Where's Rowena?” 

Purple light flitted around the group in response. 

Crowley explained, “It's best she stay small for now_." _

His hushed tone indicated they preferred concealment. All simmered down and trod up a small hill.

“You're all wondering where 'here’ is.” Crowley pointed to the hillcrest they approached. Reaching the top, a vast slope widened into a shallow clearing. In the middle were a cluster of snow covered trees. Additional trees at the edge's circular clearing bowed over unnaturally, as if reaching across the icy, open divide to intertwine with the branches in the center reaching back towards them. The area was remarkably darker than where they'd arrived. 

“May I present the Hoia Baciu Forest.”

“Oh SHIT.” “Fuck NOPE.” Sam and Charlie exclaimed over one another as they flipped a bitch and marched away. Sam turned, hurriedly walking back, then pivoted on his heel, pacing back and forth.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Dean verbally sliced, pissed off and spooked by his reaction.

“We’re in Romania, Dean! This forest is one of the most dangerous locations on the planet! The only other one even close is the suicide forest in Japan.”

“So? You're afraid of some ghosts?! You packed salt and a lighter in your bag. Jo's pitching arm can take care of it; jeezus, hold yourselves together!”

“This is literally the Bermuda Triangle on land! Weird electrical shit happens, people are thrown yards away from where they're standing when nobody’s around to push them. This whole place is just, just-”

“Chaos?” Crowley amusedly interrupted.

Annoyance was on both their faces as they glared at him. 

The trees in the middle of the clearing groaned, branches swished and cracked. Crowley beckoned all towards the trees which now bent, and cracked halfway down their trunks in a triangular shape. When the entrance revealed itself Dean felt pressure against his heart. A steady rhythm punched in his chest. More panic than pain, and with it came a rushing sound like pulsating water, or the whoosh of blood in his ears. 

Crowley turned with a grave face, warning them. “The rings inside here turn quickly and the disorientation aspect lies in between. There are platforms and a bridge from one to the other; imagine catching a bullet train door handle as it flies around a corner. That’s the best I can give you.”

“What’s in the center?” Cas shyly asked.

“Peace, or so it's rumored. Alright, listen. Until we pass the rings and meet on the other side, we must split up and get to Jim in time. Sam, Benny, Jo with me. Castiel, Dean, Eileen, Charlie with Rowena. Hold hands tightly, Dean and I will guide you.”

“Wait!” “What?” “I don't-” everyone collectively voiced in a mess of alarm.

As much as Dean wanted to take the terrifying plunge and get it over with, this information was essential. “I've been here before, after my heart attack. While I was under, I'd have these flashes, or what I thought were dreams. Hold tight and listen.”

Dean wanted to hold Cas's hand so badly, yet Eileen's firm touch was grounding. 

Crowley prepared them, “When we walk through that door, you won't see well. Hearing will be incredibly difficult, though you'll have to try. You'll have the constant sensation that your body’s a broken compass. Listen to Dean, grip each other tightly, and be on constant alert for doors or threats unmentioned. Clear?”

“Yes,” was spoken in unison. 

Crowley warned Team One, ”It's imperative you listen to me now. When you enter a ring and you hear voices not of your group, you tune them out, give your undivided _ everything _ to Rowena and Eileen immediately. Your lives depend on it. No questions, no excuses, no wandering off no matter what you see or hear. Understand?”

Dean felt the tugging in his chest once more; the rhythmic sensations were familiar. He was becoming more desperate to save Jim and the other children. 

“This holds especially important for you Dean. Each minute you spend in Chaos, you become more attuned to this realm, which means in one of these rings lies your potential downfall.”

“How so?”

“Charon’s chosen the realm of Chaos for haven while plotting his coup. He's unjustly taken a descendant of Cerberus, it's logical he'll employ similar myths and creatures from home. So if you wander off, it'll mean you've signed your death warrant and that of anyone attempting to retrieve you.”

Dean nodded apprehensively.

“My team will take the first door, best of luck to you with the second. The first ring is Chaos itself. Still your minds, no matter how difficult, and remain aware. This is all the advice I can offer.” 

The door was wide enough when holding hands, they scrunched through all at once. Dean offered a hope into the universe they'd free Jim's soul. If not, he didn't see much point to this life without Cas or the next without Jimmy.

Frozen black winds gusting with hurricane force slammed Dean from above and below. Brown, warm winds whipped from the sides, tilting his body at odd angles. He tried thinking around the assailing, nauseating disorientation. A grayish concrete step flew by. If this ring spun, they'd encounter it again. A steady rhythm of blood rushed in his ears. He watched the gargantuan step speed by, marking the time it traveled another rotation.

Dean called out, instructing everyone to count fifteen seconds, then to push forward anyway they could. When the countdown started, Dean noticed something akin to a tether surrounding his heart. It pulled steadily as a compass, with a directional correction course. Everyone's hands tightened when Dean marked a five second countdown.

“Five...four...three...two..one!”

He swung his arms forward, hoping it helped fling them onto the giant concrete step. The solid step rumbled beneath them. Dean noticed similar grayish swirls in front of them, spinning out of sync. They stopped seconds later, forming the bridge Crowley mentioned. “Ready! Go!”

Jumping from one step to another, he saw blackness solidifying into a grainy stone door. Each side had filigreed handles which Crowley reached for on the left, Benny had successfully grabbed the other. The handles pulled sliding doors from the frame to its middle, then turned like a merry-go-round. Dean watched as Team Crowley entered, the doors to the tempest he was left in slammed shut. 

~*~*~*~

Everyone found a spot and puked. Sam's blood ran cold at the first sounds of a creature’s growl. He witnessed Benny dropping to his knees, shaking in pain.

“You alright?” Sam rushed over and instantly Benny's hand spread across his chest. Blinking, he thudded against the wall yards away.

Under stress and breathing heavily, Benny apologized. “I'm s-sorry. Sorry. Stay back, don't wanna hurt anyone.”

“Benjamin, this is temporary.” But Crowley's own nerves betrayed him. 

Sam couldn't discern if it stemmed from Benny or the approaching beast.

“This won’t come home with you. Right now we need to fight this.” 

Three sets of eyes glowing like coals of Greek fire advanced. Crowley winced, as if an unpleasant memory had invaded. Sam noticed Benny's swollen mouth opening with fangs which had almost become permanent years ago. The beast revealed itself to be a massive three headed dog, eighteen hands high.

Sam observed Crowley shivering nervously whilst cautioning, “Cutting the heads off won't work. I tried. We need to drain his blood. Don't let him get a fang in, his drool is venomous. I'll lure him Benjamin, try to climb him. Go for the jugular.”

Seeing its lips curled; Sam gaped at the butcher knives for canines dripping with black goo. The dog's eyes remained on his prey while emitting a chilling tone. Something in its bow niggled at him, yet there wasn't time to analyze.

Crowley lunged right, tracking the heads. The distraction provided Benny with a vulnerable spot. He tore a gash up the neck of the far right head, then scaled its back. Sam saw the beast’s left toe snag Crowley's jacket, flinging him towards the entrance. Smokey tendrils billowed from his chest while the demon nephil attempted to stand. Unholy thrashing ensued as Benny bit all three necks, spitting out chunks of blood, fur, and flesh. Eventually it threw itself on the ground and Benny tumbled off.

Sam frantically searched MooNStoR via tablet, the bunker’s database created by Charlie, for medicinal lore. Benny moved to escape, yet in a single sweep, the enormous paw pinned him to the floor.

“No Benny! No!” Sam shoved the tablet at Jo, running for him. 

“You can't Sam! No!” shouted Crowley.

Benny tossed the paw off, but when standing, Sam couldn't distinguish his shredded clothing from ribbons of flesh. Crowley raised his hand, blasting the dog back. It remained upright, exhausted and wheezing. Sam dragged Benny over to Crowley so he could heal him. The pain must've been unimaginable, but the glowing red behind him radiated warmly.

Benny huffed out, “Somethin’ don't feel right.”

Sam attempted to rally their prize fighter. “There's no right kind of fight. I believe in you.” 

Benny tried covering a goo riddled cough, “But, I-fuck ouch! Feels like he don't wanna fight.”

“That's just-,” but Sam stopped cold. Recalling the dip of the dog’s head, an opponent's respectful bow. He was intelligent enough to show respect, that tone, the whine, was it a veiled plea to submit? 

“Nah Sam. I'm telling you. Right now I'm sensing things, it doesn't want to. Hercules wouldn't kill Cerberus, maybe there's another way.”

Crowley leaned over, offering through his coughs, “We technically don't have to kill it. Just render it unconscious. If it dies in the process, so be it.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned this when it was giving us an out?!” Sam bellowed at him.

“You want to lull Fluffy to sleep? Find Hagrid! I’m here to pass trials and rescue souls!”

Jo and Sam looked at one another. “Sing him to sleep.”

Sam urged rather apologetically, “Benny, pick a song, from your childhood? A person approaching the dog needs to sing a song of great comfort. Crowley get ready to blast if this backfires.”

Benny regarded Sam as if he'd gone off the rails completely, Crowley appeared scandalized. “Thank you Ron and Hermione-”

Jo interrupted in support of Sam “Tons of myths have these elements, subduing a guard or foe by singing just might work.”

Benny was in no mood, but also unwavering in his assessment that the poor dog hadn't wanted this. Closing his eyes, he began:

_ “J’ais passé devant ta porte, _

_ J'ais crié bye, bye la belle _

_ 'Ya personne qu'a pas répondu _

_ Oh ye yaille, mon coeur fait mal” _

While crooning the Cajun classic, Doggo made neither approach, nor complaint. It gazed in neutrality, listening. 

Crowley severely limped behind the oversized beast, working his mojo, staunching the flow of black goo. Horror spread across his whitening face.

“What egregious abuse! Sacrilege!” he seethed in such fury, his eyes glowed red.

Coughing and gagging, he staggered. Sam was dismayed watching him bow on the floor before it, putting his head down, displaying absolute submission. He muttered something to the dog and it sat up, recognizing Crowley's submissiveness. 

Sam heard him speak soothingly to it, as if begging forgiveness. “It tried using you as a chew toy, the hell's he doing?”

“Beats me, he's hobblin’ back, but that's murder in his eyes if I've ever seen it.”

“It’s not a he!” Crowley pointed angrily at the dog, “That's a bitch and she's due any day! I’m coming back for her.”

Benny's eyes widened with surprise and sorrow; he began singing again. In no time, she was asleep. 

~*~*~*~

Nobody wanted to stay out in the puke storm between rings, but there was nothing for it. Holding hands, the nauseating this-way-and-that, county fair gyro sphere feeling took over. 

More rolling steps appeared. They carefully crossed, jumping onto the next platform, exactly as the other team had done. When entering the second ring, the large but simple room was deathly cold, despite the blazing torches lining the walls. Dean felt needles all over his skin, despite the warm parka he wore. 

“Quickly, look!” Rowena pointed urgently to the corner.

He was horrified at the sight of forty to fifty bodies disrespectfully discarded in the corner. Covered in icicle beards, their faces conveyed various frozen expressions of fright or sorrow. It was a boast, of how many souls tried passing this ring over the millennia, and failed. Dean's stomach twisted at the sight then lurched as the castle like stone walls rumbled, as if the ring seized with earthquakes. One wall bore ice lines cracking in brick forms from floor to ceiling, some jutting out from the walls further than others. What kind of-

“This is some Lara Croft, Tomb Raider bullshit,” Eileen signed to Cas, who readily concurred.

Dean was glad somebody said it, then shivered.

“Remove the ice from that wall, quickly!” Rowena ordered.

Charlie steadily made her way to an open section of wall to begin clearing it with bulky, gloved hands. As all pitched in, Dean was all too aware the sense of urgency was underlined by a measurable drop in temperature. Etchings and lines behind the frost appeared. Backing up for a better view, Dean beheld many lines curving, twisting, then disconnecting, and was relieved to have Charlie on this adventure.

Once Charlie got a gander she got to work immediately. Reminded by the sickening body count, she raced through combinations of lines and shapes. Dean could almost see the geometric neon letters and equations running through her amazing mind. 

“Gotta move these tiles!” Charlie frantically zipped from tile to tile, meeting impossible resistance.

Cas, Charlie, and Eileen tried; frustratingly, nothing budged. Rowena's eyes roamed over the entire wall, she too was perplexed. Eileen then twisted and pushed the longest outstretching tile inward. The whole wall shook while withdrawing large amounts of tiles backwards. Dean's adrenaline began to spike at the vibrations, making it harder to breathe. 

A rectangle of tiles stayed in place like a picture frame. The rest pulled back, separating an inch or two from each other as if on rollers, leaving three tiles worth of space open completely.

Charlie began solving in a flurry of activity, ever aware the dead in the corner were a direct message to those attempting the challenge. She grabbed a tile by sliding her gloved hands in between the small spaces. Sure enough it moved and rotated by some unseen mechanism behind the wall.

“May I remind, another ice age is approaching.” Rowena meant to be helpful, but came off somewhat perturbed.

“She's going as fast as she can,” snarled Cas and Dean together in over protectiveness.

“Almost there I think! Isn't that your gun?” Charlie asked.

Dean examined images, slowly taking on familiar forms on the wall as Charlie worked. Fear nearly paralyzed him. “My Colt. What the fuck? And that!” Dean pointed to another object, “Why’s Sam's bowie knife here?”

Rowena squinted, reaching out, clearing chunks of ice clinging to the tiles. 

“There's more,” she whispered, as if her breath was stolen.

“I'm going as fast as I can!” Charlie barked.

“This isn't the only challenge! It must've added another element.This is, _ personal._” Rowena stood there aghast, regarding the wall.

“What do you mean?” Cas demanded, “personal how?”

“Charon not only knows someone's here, but _ who. _ It only follows he knows the _ why. _This’ll be more dangerous than I'd expected.”

“What's the other element? This is a puzzle we're moments away from solving!” Cas demanded.

Dean watched him shivering and wanted so much to wrap him in his arms, even if only to warm him. Cas did his damndest to ignore it. His worry must've shown, so the guy doubled down on efforts to conceal his body's reactions to the cold. Dean knew it was a defense mechanism, but it didn't change the support he craved to give and receive during this nightmare. He was all the more miserable knowing its absence was his fault. 

“The devil's in the details. Look more closely.” Mildly smirking, Rowena's hand lit up like a purple party light, revealing the Colt, the Bowie knife, and as Charlie slid the last tile in place, a familiar blade. _How?_

Every hair on Dean's head raised, every millimeter of skin sprouted goosebumps even under the layers of warm clothing. The temperature dropped again and concern took hold, realizing everyone's lips were blue. The purple light from Rowena's hand revealed within the ink lines of the objects were letters, twisted, inverted, scattered. 

“Uh-h-h..t-hhe cipher ss-symbols are _ T _ and _ O. _Grab the pen and paper-ah shit! Ink's probably frozen, dammit! I need a pencil!” Charlie bemoaned.

“Got o-one,” Cas assured while Eileen rifled through his small pack, shivering.

Dean was in awe as Rowena blew on it, and when she handed it back to Charlie, she held it, sighing and tightening her grip.

“Th-thank you-u.”

“Don't have much of it ll-left,“ Rowena answered. 

Dean tried not freaking the fuck out. If Rowena was running low on magic, chances they'd all get thrown on the people popsicle pile were growing exponentially.

Charlie wrote with a fury, aware hypothermia was setting in. This was too much; he couldn't tell if Cas was still conscious by the way he rested against the pillar. Eileen was removing her beanie. Charlie couldn't move her arm, let alone her fingers to write any more of the cryptogram. Rowena was fluttering about, her light pulsating erratically in desperation to determine who was more far gone. Terror seized Dean at the thought of them failing.

“Rowena! Get in my sh-shhirt, now! S-sorry!” He grabbed her light, tucking her down the front of his shirt. He felt her settle in the turtle neck portion surrounded by his scarf. Shuffling over to Charlie, who blankly stared into space, he propped her against the wall to take over. Dean studied the the cipher she'd nearly finished.

By the time it'd registered, he found it far more difficult to move. He pleaded to Rowena,

* * *

”Please tell me what to do. I-I c-ccannnn't lose them!” 

“P-p-ppput the letters in the pppillrr bbbhnd yo-yu..starting top.”

He turned and spluttered, almost dropping the notepad. Eileen was propped up against one of the room’s pillars still as death, her skin almost white from frost. This was Dean's worst nightmare come to life, and he wasn't too far off himself. Pushing towards the pillar felt like marching through a waist-high snow drift. 

“Bb-bhii nnd you,” he heard Cas stuttering. At the pillar, each row had more than the twenty-six letter alphabet. He needed a boost. Cas harshly tapped his back and fell to his knees so he could lean on all fours.

“Wwwhhen ddn, say.._ Gathan,_” Rowena muttered out.

“Kkk..kkay.”

Digging deep, he jumped on Cas's back. And thank fuck the rows of alphabet spun. If they had to move around the pillar for every letter, they'd only make the first two before dying. When Dean breathed, it burned. Raising his arms to enter a letter he gasped for air, like he'd just ran a 26k in the worst shape of his life. His hands felt like fifty pound weights. The first word was done.

“You”

He kept going, not yet daring to look at the sum of all parts. At some point he realized he'd been pausing. He shook his head, clearing his mind, estimating he was nearly halfway through. 

“can't save”

Dean's heart broke thinking of those they'd left at home.

“everyone my”

His heart slowed, yet he knew it shouldn't be beating as hard as it was. As long as he was breathing he’d keep pushing. 

“friend”

Hand function ceased, Dean couldn't push tiles in. Pulling his hand to his forehead, he pushed against his hand moving tiles in the needed directions. The letters became fuzzy, he wanted sleep so badly. If he could just have a moment's rest, he'd be fine. But wait! He wasn't cold anymore! Rowena must've cast a spell! His damned gloves were in the way! They prevented him from finishing, saying the magic words. If he pulled the fucking thi- _OUCH! __Motherfuc- Ow Goddammit! _I need to finish this! 

“Though”

_What the- _“Sssomething biting mm-me?!” 

“you try.”

The notebook fell from his hand. The room darkened, his heart strained to beat, but violently pulled at him.

“_Gath..th..ga..” _it was like a cigarette lighter that wouldn't spark. The biting on his chest moved up his neck, the darkness was warm. That's all that mattered. Dean would be with his family, with his Jimmy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hoya Baciu Forest is indeed a paranormal mystery spot I have read about for years. How could I not incorporate it into a Supernatural fic? And yes, it really has earned the nickname "Bermuda Triangle on Land." If you've not heard of it, seriously, go check it out!
> 
> Having a career in the realm of Librarianship I decided Charlie, genius that she is, would create a bunker database for the Men of Letters archives and put her own spin on its name. MooNStoR was inspired by the academic database, JSTOR, found in every academic library in the U.S. worth its salt.
> 
> **Scottish Gaelic**  
Gathan//Rays
> 
> **French**  
Cleoma Breaux sang "J'ai Passe Devant ta Porte." It's a Cajun Classic Benny undoubtedly would know well. It's translates as 'I passed by your door'- and is about the passing of one's true love. It just seemed fitting.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains one scene of disturbing, graphic violence. My apologies, I only just remembered after posting and it's short, but if anyone would like a spoiler or text markers for where to skip ahead and resume reading, I'm more than happy to provide.

Something hit his face hard, again and again. His arms weren't moving right; none of his body was. He was spinning, and burns scorched his chest, yanking him upwards, then slamming him back down. Dean's eyes flew open, a blinding purple light whammied him again. There were faces above him. But none of them were Jim. Because Jim was dead. Dean didn't know if he was shivering or crying. He only knew heartbreak because Jim was dead, now his family was dead. Cas too. 

“No they're not, yae blootered drama queen,” he heard Rowena bark.

Had he said that out loud? What just happened? Dean felt soaked to the bone and found himself covered in parkas and scarves.

“I don't- what?”

Charlie pulled him up. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

“We're okay?” he looked around, verifying all were accounted for, “the code worked?”

“Relax Princess,” Charlie smiled, kissing his cold cheek.

Rowena morphed into a glowing purple ball again and flitted around Dean, landing on his shoulder. Rubbing his chest, he quietly murmured, “You wanna bite me, you buy me dinner.”

*°°.°.••°…**•

Her light pulsated; he heard the faint sound of wind chimes in a pleasant response. 

Laughing, he praised, “Thanks. For everything.”

~*~*~*~

Cas opened the next ring's door, it was blessedly quiet and dark. A comforting resonance traveled on the wind from the tempest outside, or was it the inside? Dean couldn't tell, but warmth spread through him like an IV push. The sound, it was the voice of an angel. Rowena furiously waved at Eileen.

Dean noticed she faced Rowena, the two quickly placing three fingers from each hand against their mouths, indicating silence was desired. They turned their hands, with the three fingered sign outwards, snapping one arm upward facing the sky, and the other downward, facing the floor. A solid neon line of purple appeared between them. The sounds entering the room, lulling people to a false sense of security immediately reduced by half volume. Dean became seriously nonplussed. 

Enraptured with whatever spell they were casting, Dean observed Rowena and Eileen nodding to each other, then in one swift movement they brought their arms back, snapping them straight out to each side. The air changed like a switch being thrown. The purple line floating between the two women formed a barrier around them, rippling like in a water pond or lake. 

Eileen began moving backwards slowly, step by step. Dean heard a faint echo of ethereal voices outside the weirdo bubble. Charlie and Cas placed their hands around Dean’s, and visually indicated they'd hold him tightly, should he attempt to veer off course. Right away, apprehension set in due to the strange sounds he heard, the bizarre environment, and thinking on what could possibly make him go AWOL.

Moving as one unit, they watched Eileen and Rowena, who still held out their hands with the signs. Dean desperately listened for the beautiful voices calling him, and yet he knew this spell by Eileen and amplified by Rowena, was for their safety. Dean was overwhelmingly grateful Crowley had taught Eileen a sign spell which pinpointed a trait, one so often perceived as a disadvantage. Rowena's magic amplified this trait; the silence and strength she was surrounded in every waking hour of her life, now shielded them from what Dean surmised were sirens. 

Following Eileen, who watched Cas like a hawk for guidance via sign language, Dean kept his eyes on the women so bravely shielding them. Shimmers and flashes of transparent forms passed by outside the bubble. Occasionally a voice rose in volume and he'd be solidly jerked the other way, reminding him of what was at stake.

The darkness cleared up, he wondered if it had for anyone else too. A long, recognizable hallway became visible, leading to operating rooms on the lower level of St. Luke's Children's Hospital. Jim was being led down that hallway against his will by large men in blue scrubs. He turned to Dean, screaming with tears pouring down his red face, the terror in his eyes scorching Dean's soul.

“Jim! No!! Get away! Fight them!” Dean pulled, kicking against Charlie and Cas. 

Jim was dragged across the O.R. floor and thrown upon the operating table. 

“No Jim, keep fighting! Don't let them do this to you!” Dean tried punching and kicking his way free from Charlie and Cas. He got an arm loose when Cas slammed into him, grabbing it again to prevent catastrophic loss for the group.

“Get the fuck off of me! What the hell is wrong with you assholes! He never wanted to do this in the first place! Oh God NO! Jim no!” Dean was screaming so loud it was like razors slicing his throat. This was unimaginable, how could his family do nothing?! 

A nurse held Jim's head in place. Dean saw him screaming for help as the surgeon applied the orange betadine and drew the line down his sternum with the sharpie. The surgeon gripped the saw, starting in with it. Blood sprayed against the nurse's visor as she firmly held Jim's head.

“Goddammit no, you monsters! What the fuck are you doing?! He never wanted this! You’re killing him!” Dean flailed so hard his right fist came in contact with something that crunched on impact and he fell to the ground. Screaming so loud his voice was almost gone, his feet were bound, he felt himself being dragged. 

“Leave him alone!!! This is your brother for fuck’s sake! What's wrong with you!” Dean kept fighting and kicking with everything he had to save Jim, even as the surgeon brought the still beating heart in his hand to HIM. To Dean. His own chest hurt so bad he thought the heart gifted to him was exploding inside his rib cage. With a massive thunderclap the scene was gone.

Dean was on the floor shaking. “Why didn't any of you help him! They dragged him onto the table and pulled his heart out while he was still awake! Why didn't any of you help?!”

“It was an illusion by the the sirens Dean. You’re gonna be alright,” Charlie soothed, holding his head in her lap.

“He didn't wanna give me his heart but they made him! I'm alive because they murdered him!”

“That’s not true and you know it. Hannah never would’ve let that happen. This was a way to separate you from us. And we beat'em.”

Dean focused on the windy sounds blowing outside the room, his family's pacings. He opened his eyes. Rowena's soft glow on Cas's face revealed a swollen cheek already a dark blue, but his eye was jet black. Unless Rowena could heal them, Dean was certain his orbital bones were permanently damaged. “Oh Jesus Cas. I'm so fucking sorry."

“It'll be fine,” came the indifferent reply.

They allowed Dean some recovery time, recognizing his emotional state was at a critical level. “We felt and saw things too. Jo was shot at work,” Charlie sniffled.

Soft pressure from another hand on his shoulder made Dean look up. Rowena bent down, offering insight. 

“The sirens attempt to pull the target from their group, if there is one. Their methods range from seduction, to what you saw.” 

“I broke Cas's face and almost got everybody else killed. I'm no good at steering through this place. Pick somebody else, please.”

“He also said your familiarity with this realm will make you more susceptible. You got us through the doors, then saved us from freezing to death.”

Dean started to argue, but Rowena cut him off. “These trials aren't just pass or fail, they tell the one who sets them in motion about your character. They indicate who they're up against, and so far Charon has every reason to fear what's coming.”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed, “so much for the element of surprise.”

“We don’t need it. Those meaning us harm now understand we are nine, willing to risk our lives for Jim and the other souls. Charon's heinously underestimated us, the proof is in our location.”

“Which is?” Cas's curiosity returned. 

Dean was surprised to see Crowley, Sam, Jo, and Benny suddenly crashing through another door into their room, traumatized and screaming. They were running around twitching and brushing at their clothes as if something highly undesirable was crawling all over them. 

“Sam! Jo! What the hell is going on?” Cas hollered.

Charlie dumped Dean on the floor, gunning for Jo who screamed at her, “B-babe, don't! Dddon't touch me right now. Sorry! Bugs. Big bugs. Gauntlet of fuckin’ Raiders sized spiders. Is there one on me? Get it off! Get it the fuck off now!” 

Sam and Benny quickly jumped away, lest the invisible spider find its way to them. Dean spotted Crowley in the corner, hands on his knees, silently hunched over in recovery. He dragged his ass up and made his way over to check on him, just as Charlie checked on Benny, and Eileen saw to Sam. 

After all recovered and quickly gave the abbreviated run down on each other's ordeals Benny asked, “What challenge is this? Or is there one?”

Crowley offered, “Calm before the storm I'm afraid. Beyond that door lies the center. His ferrymen will be waiting. We passed the trials, now we must fight.”

Dean noticed Sam looking disappointed and prompted him to talk.

“I haven't been much help.”

Crowley puffed up, replying, “Whose idea was it to Kumbaya their way out of the dogs' lair Sam, hm? I’m calling her Ramsey. Away from Chaos's influence, she and her children will keep my new realm safe.” 

Sam shuffled his feet. Dean beamed with pride for his little brother.

“We wouldn’t be here to save my brother and the other souls if you hadn’t stuck to your guns. No matter what happens, I’m thankful for the chance to do this.” Cas marched over, giving Sam a hug.

Crowley motioned for Jo to take off her pack. “How’s the arm Miss Jo March?”

“Ready.”

Benny helped Dean stand. The big brother in him needed verification Sam was still good upstairs. He'd been fidgeting nervously with his pack, watching everyone else ready for battle.

“Sam, you alright?”

“Yeah,” came an unconvincing reply, “I don't have any super powers or abilities. My only advantage in hand to hand combat is my height.”

“Sam, you saved Benny's life, he was able to turn around and do the same for you.”

Sam nodded, nervously opening his gargantuan hiking pack. But as he pulled out two identical objects, of which there were several more back in the bunker, the look on Dean's face, then Charlie's became that of pure glee and pride.

“Wow. Seriously? You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.”

“Who is that?”

“Awesome,” Dean grinned ear to ear.

“One of us,” Charlie beamed with pride, then gestured at all the nerds. 

Sam scoffed but managed a smirk, “We’re not exactly the Brady's.”

“Boring!” chimed Dean and Charlie together.

“Death by Holy water cannon?” Dean commented with interest.

Sam checked both Nerf Super Soakers he'd brought, for cracks and leaks. “Not just water. Overheard Rowena telling Jo how potent the seeds and juice are from the Tree of Life. I asked for a few drops to dilute and weaponize.”

“This is exactly what I mean! You're-” Groaning, Dean held his head. His pulse pounded, the patterned whooshing sound in his ears running in the background since entering Chaos, now hit him like a bus. 

Crowley mused, “I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing all of us.” 

“Is it just me?”

Crowley touched Dean's temples, reducing the internal volume, ”Exposure breeds sensitivity.”

“Thanks.” It’d taken the edge off at least. Dean watched Crowley pointedly turn to Cas, who leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He approached with a level of reverence none had seen before. 

“Not sure I can live up to expectation if you think I'll vamp out when leaving this room,“ Cas stated, rattled but not running.

Crowley wore a wistful smile and straightened his right arm. A silver blade shot out from his sleeve. Dean jumped at the sight of it, and once again an adrenaline surge was pulsing through him. Dean witnessed him spinning it once, then hand the uniquely shaped grip to Cas with a daring expression.

Cas's reluctance was no surprise to Dean. “I've never trained for offensive combat. I'm no warrior. You're asking the wrong person.” 

Crowley issued a challenge heavy with more words and emotions than he spoke. “You wanna know the difference between you and me? I know what I am. What about you?”

Dean knew wheels were turning in his mind. His eyes darted side to side as if on the precipice, like so many other times, it was something maddeningly out of reach.

“I've guarded this with my life, among other things. Castiel, it's time to discover all you're capable of. Dig deep, find strength where you've least expected it.”

Cas readied for an argument, but was silenced by Crowley's next announcement.

“It's time. Remember who you came here for. I'd stay near Jo and Castiel, for reasons that’ll become obvious. _ Don't _ let them get you near the lake water. It's lethal, and they won't hesitate taking you with them."

Dean didn't know what to make of the exchange between Cas and Crowley. He watched them open the doors, wishing more than ever he'd said those three stupid words, because now he may never get the chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Eileen using her silent world as a shield of protection was too delicious to pass up. It struck me, and this whole version of Chaos grew around the notion. Crowley sure seems to know far more about Cas than he does about himself, but at this point does it really come as a surprise? Any guesses? 
> 
> "I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing all of us." -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


	29. Chapter 29

Low lying grayish mist curled around them as Dean heard gravel crunching under his feet, ascending an incline towards a bright light. He saw no ceiling, no stars, no clouds. A stark line separated the swirling mist and pitch blackness above. At the top of the incline along the shore of a massive lake, Dean observed a beach line curving like a half moon melding into the mist. Parting to reveal an enormous harvest moon, its breathtaking reflection shimmered on the water, illuminating their surroundings. 

Cloaked nightmarish figures ghosted over the rocky shoreline with a terrifying gait. The closer their approach, the more their menacing boats pitched with an incoming tide. A silent hopelessness fell over the group. All turned to Crowley, who'd suddenly alerted to an unexpected presence beginning to flank them. 

“Watch yourselves,” he warned.

Another group of ferrymen, silent as death, had surrounded them. Bracing for an attack, Dean sensed his family following suit behind him. A single ferryman laggardly walked towards Dean and Crowley, while the rest stayed perfectly still. Its shoulders hunched forward unnaturally, yet it glided over the rocks, then bowed so deeply its hooded face and whole of its body lay prostrate before them. 

“Crowley?” Dean was frightened beyond belief, and acutely aware the other ferrymen still marched from the other direction.

“Parlay,” gaped the nephil. He joined the entity on the ground in a gesture acquiescing the request. When Crowley's form matched the ferryman’s, all the cloaks changed from pitch black to deep Hershey brown. 

Dean glimpsed the others rounding the lake shore, noting their black cloaks far outnumbered these brown. The ferryman who'd requested parlay was making some truly eerie sounds, giving Dean chills so severe he thought he'd pissed himself. The entity's speech was a rusty iron gate screeching on ancient hinges.

Crowley stood, mildly bowing again to the one ferryman, while swiftly explaining their presence. “Seems Charon’s missing the full support he so foolishly assumed. This lot gladly offers assistance in sabotaging his coup. They simply wish to resume ferrying souls to their respective realms.

“Is that why they're brown, not black?” Dean wondered?

“Fair assumption.”

Dean was curious. “Have they been watching us since we got here?”

Crowley turned and bowed again, though not as deeply. A response came and again everyone covered their ears. “They've done what they can for us since we arrived and apologize they couldn't do more.” 

Dean now understood. “The whirling Hershey colored fog between rings were these ferrymen, shielding us from attack by the black cloaks still loyal to Charon.”

He bowed deeply in gratitude, then realized his family was doing the same. Plumes of silvery feathers with patterned etchings bloomed from their hoods, which now formed tightly around their heads. Dean listened as the slim, metal feathers musically clanged together, falling in a line down their backs like mohawks. 

The cloaks molded to their skeletons, serving a more tactical purpose. Doubling as weapons, their oars slimmed and elongated into spear points. Dean reacted with an ice cold shiver down his spine, thankful as hell they were on their side. In one smooth movement each ferryman warrior bowed back to the Neverlanders with surprising reverence.

He turned to face the oncoming horde with sickening trepidation. The remaining mist receded and Dean beheld a massive island in the middle of the lake. Bound within a sphere-shaped force field, he spotted wisps of light undulating like the Aurora Borealis. Standing guard beside them, perhaps twelve or thirteen feet in height, was an alarming figure gesturing to ferrymen marching along the shoreline.

A hood rested upon his shoulders like the mantle of a commander. Protruding from the side of his skull was an oar handle and in place of an arm was an oar blade, curved into a nasty weapon. With venom coursing through his veins like never before, Dean knew this could only be Charon. 

The ticking, pulsating sound returned full force, triggering a ballistic rage within Dean. By the time the black cloaked ferrymen began their assault, he and his family had expressed their silent sentiments and readied for battle. 

Jo threw a knife, hitting a black cloak square in the face. It aimlessly rushed forward, swatting at the knife. Dean decided to give his Colt a crack. Two dropped for the price of one. He continued blowing them to kingdom come, realizing the clip refilled automatically with a kind of unknown bullet. Crowley knowingly winked at him. Sam's employment of youthful weaponry was an advantage. One spray, and they melted and screeched like the Wicked Bitch of Oz.

Jo threw with killer accuracy. Her knives were no less lethal, also having been dipped in the juice. Go figure- the symbol for life spelled death for ferrymen. Rowena took human form. She wielded a nearly identical blade to Cas’s, silently tearing through their ranks. Dean saw many brown cloaks appear. Disappear. Then reappear, in the ultimate game of evasion. Clasping their grotesque spider-like fingers around the black cloaks’ heads, he almost yelped in pain himself watching how they'd gouge out their eyes, then consume their essence. 

His eyes locked on Cas. Moments earlier he’d been hesitant. Now the blade was an extension of his own hand. His whole body was spinning, ducking, blocking, and stabbing as if he'd unlocked a whole new level of defensive combat. Dean couldn't believe what he was seeing. _ Where the hell had that come from?! _

Charlie was struck down by a black cloak, using his hideous finger as a blade, piercing her arm, pinning her to the ground for others to scavenge like vultures with carrion. Rowena crossed the battlefield, obliterating those anywhere near her. Charlie's arm was badly injured and her leg broken. While administering her healing touch, Rowena screamed so loudly it broke through the hacking and gunshots.

Dean, Jo, and Cas witnessed her being swarmed, and swiftly dragged away. She became wrapped in some kind of iron forcefield resembling an old Faraday cage. Back in small form, she slammed her purple light against it, tipping it back and forth. This was a disaster. Now if injured badly, none of them had a snowball’s chance in hell of healing.

She flitted around furiously, rocking and bashing the cage. Dean sent a rain of bullets upon her guardians. By the time he got to her she'd knocked the thing over. Rowena blasted out of it with an explosion sending dozens of black cloaks to their deaths. Dean gave her cover as she threw dozens of hex bags onto the boats, issuing a vicious spell. 

With pure venom in her voice she boomed,_“Impetus Beastiarum! Dele malum hoc!"_

Dean fearfully gunned for Benny, who fell to one of the black cloaks’ attacks. Their enemies desisted, staring at her blankly. Sam and Dean dragged him back from the main fight.

Many brown cloaks retreated, forming a shield around Benny and Charlie, who were gravely injured. Charlie's broken leg healed, but her arm was mangled. Benny was barely breathing, and hemorrhaging from his chest. Dean guessed he'd been stabbed just shy of his heart, but it’d sustained damage nonetheless. 

“Oh God Benny, no! No please!” Dean rushed to his side, holding him close.

The black cloaks were tearing each other apart. Rowena was having trouble with Benny, Crowley urgently used his crimson grace to aid his mother. Losing Benny would ruin him, he focused on who was still upright and breathing. Charlie was standing, leaning against Jo. Sam was bleeding from several cuts on his face, and at best his shoulder was dislocated. His good arm draped around Eileen, whose face was almost completely black and blue. And Cas wa-

“Where's Cas?” Seconds ticked by like the painful pulsating in his ears. He left Benny with Crowley and shot up, looking for Cas. Dean almost lost his shit wondering if he'd been inadvertently dragged into the cannibalistic fray, still diminishing nearby. “Cas!” he called out.

“Cas dammit, where are you?!” Dean caught a flash of something shiny on the ground. “Oh shit!!” he gasped, recognizing the blade Crowley had given him. 

“Dean! Look!” Sam pointed beyond him to the island.

As the last black cloak fell, what Dean saw ripped a gash in his heart. On the edge of the island stood Charon. In one hand was a beautiful blue wisp shining more brightly than all the others. In his other hung Cas, his neck gripped forcefully with the most grotesque arachnid-like fingers Dean had ever laid eyes on. 

Rage surged through him, powerful and unrestrained. Swiping Cas's blade, he pounded along the shoreline towards the island with pure Hell burning in his eyes. These souls were the two pieces of his heart. Now even in death, Jim suffered relentlessly all because this bitch couldn't let go of forever. 

He heard Sammy frantically yell after him, “Goddammit get back here!”

Dean turned, giving him _ that _ look. The one which says _ I love you man, but fuck off or DIE. _

Thundering his way down the rocky shoreline, pebbles kicking out from under his shoes ricocheted like bullets, but he hardly noticed. Dean was gunning for this bitch, and his wrath only fueled the fire. 

~*~*~*~

“_Choose.” _ The command issued from Charon hurt as badly as that damn ticking rush in his ears. The Ferryman's voice screeched like old iron.

Like hell. “Ya see Karen,” Dean purposely mispronounced his name, “How 'bout you let'em go, and I won't shove this blade right up yer grade B Disney villain ass?!"

Never in a million years would Dean dare insult, let alone antagonize, a ferryman. He harbored far too much respect for those who transported souls safely to Heaven. But this bitch had it coming. Charon squeezed Cas's neck until Dean could almost hear it snap; his beautiful blue eyes were now bright red from burst blood vessels. The feisty ball of light was simultaneously being snuffed out by the other disgusting hand. 

“_One dies. One lives.” _

Dean strategized and wound up his sales pitch. “Yer a lying sack of shit. You want some white meat, bitch? I'm right here! Them for me.”

Charon shook his head with a sickening smirk.

“Awh, c'mon now, what's not to love?” Dean gestured to himself, “Thanks to you I'm the perfect kind of broken.”

Charon loosened his grip on Cas, dropping him inches above the water. Then the bastard shook his head and smiled, lowering Cas and Jim dangerously close to the water. The only way Dean knew how to protect the people he loved was to remove the bargaining chip altogether. 

“Take me_. Please,” _he begged with a cracking voice. “Just let them live and take me.”

“_Chooooose_.” Charon maniacally grinned.

Falling to his knees in complete devastation, the blade in his hand clanged loudly against the jagged rocks. The thunderous ticking in this place would make his head explode. Dean's stomach was on the verge of expulsion. And as much as he'd suffered the loss of Jim at the expense of his own life, it paled in comparison to this moment. This choice. Pitching forward onto his hands, he sobbed. Dean heard an incantation spoken behind him, but he was past the point of caring. 

_ “Choose..or both die.” _

He straightened up onto his knees, muffling a cry from the pain in his chest and head, and it still couldn't touch what he felt throughout his soul. 

“I've never stopped loving you Jimmy. I haven't been able to say it to anyone else because the only two people I've said it to died. I've thought all these years you were happy in heaven, waiting for me. You’re my first love, always have been.”

The beautiful wisp of light flickered wildly in Charon's hand and suddenly Cas spoke, in a hopeless voice. “Pick him, Dean. He'll always have your heart in a way I never can. Please choose him. Be happy.”

Dean broke down all over again at his words, knowing Cas was feeling this way because of him. “You're right. He’ll always have my heart in a way you never can.” 

Cas slumped in heartbreak at the confirmation.

“Jimmy, you have my love forever. You’re everything my sixteen year old self wanted. If those doctors had saved you, we'd be side by side now, growing old together. But it's impossible to go back in time. I'm sorry Jimmy,” Dean hiccuped through the tears, “but I'm _ in _ love with Castiel too.”

Looking Cas in the eyes he said, “The words were right there, shock just threw me for a second realizing I'd finally fallen for someone again. Then Crowley crashed in and the moment disappeared. But I'm in with love you.”

Cas struggled comprehending what he'd been convinced would never ring true.

“You and me? We're definitely broken. But I _ know _ we have what it takes to help each other be strong in those weak spots.”

That light in Cas's eyes which had dimmed in the last few hours, came back. Dean felt a terrible relief seeing it return, because the price was Jim's soul. The expression of pure disgust on Charon's face as he glanced at Dean in absolute hatred, chilled him to the bone. His regard for Crowley behind him was no better.

“Proud and insolent youth, prepare to meet your doom!“ taunted Charon with a hiss and murder blazing in his eyes. 

A shaking nephil was ready to tear him to shreds, yet Dean sensed he called to a much greater power than even Charon could deal with. Crowley raised an eyebrow to the bastard in the boat and put forth the challenge, “Dark and sinister man, have at thee.”

The water around Charon's boat rippled. The surface undulated to the rhythm of the nephil's spellcasting, the same ticking rhythm in Dean's head. He was sick to his core with it. Something was rising to the surface and Dean was sure this was no scaled water creature come to sing about trinkets and thingamabobs.

What was it Crowley mentioned before? A crocodile? Charon venomously stared Crowley down, then Rowena as she joined in, holding Jim and Cas over the water in the ultimate threat display of _I go, they go._ The boat's rocking violently increased with the colossus-in-question's rapid ascent.

The ticking boomed louder and louder. Their excruciating pulsations were detonating stars of blinding white voids affecting Dean's field of vision. His heart hammered painfully with the rising desperation to save Jim and Cas. He clutched his chest. Dean was certain another heart attack was seizing him, and yet he willed himself to remain conscious. As if a switch was thrown from deep inside, a powerful instinct, alien and unknown, ripped through his core. He picked up Cas's blade. Everything around him was impossibly clear through a shining blue lens. He spun the blade itching in his hand. Dean threw it with inhuman strength and precision. As it landed square in Charon's chest, a blast wave knocked everyone back.

Behind Charon, a mountainous entity breached the waters surface. Towering over them all, the humanoid form easily rivaled the height of the Chrysler Building. Its wind-worn, gangrenous skin was ridged, and speckled with saurian patterns. His coarse beard never fully pervaded the water. Yet from its tangled knots poured torrents of lethal, black water. The splashes were charges of dynamite upon the lake’s surface. Spiral galaxies shone from his eyes as he scanned the realm with hell fury. Suddenly, the two galaxies were spinning with fire. Dean followed the titan’s gaze, drawn like a beam straight to Charon. The High Ferryman was immobilized from the blade embedded in his chest, making escape impossible. As this colossus scooped him up, water, boat, and all, Dean was helpless. He watched in untold terror while Cas and Jim plummeted towards the deadly water below.

At the last second, something suspended them inches above the murky depths. Dean honestly didn't know where to look - at the titan who was raising the struggling form of Charon to his black, Olympic sized swimming pool of a mouth, or the frozen-in-mid-air pair that were the lifeblood of his existence. 

Crowley and Rowena were dumbfounded by the invisible assistance. Cas's feet touched the rocks and Crowley had him by his shirt, yanking him away from shore. Rowena grabbed Jimmy and backed away from the rolling tide. There was precious little time to verify all were intact. The back splash from this monstrous entity was going to be unimaginable. Rowena carefully handed Jimmy over to her son and disappeared. Dean spotted a purple light on the island just before the glowing wisps shrunk. She was beside them once more, holding a glowing drawstring bag closely. 

“Is that thing coming after us?” Dean hollered as Crowley and Rowena were throwing out barrier spells left and right like the Hoover Dam. 

Rowena shouted, “Him? I should think not!”

“The back splash could kill us all!” Crowley shouted.

Dean witnessed Charon disappear into the fathomless depths of digestion via Gargantua Aquatica.

“Who's ‘him’?!”

“Kronos! He consumes all who abuse time!” Crowley informed.

Rowena yelled, “We need to get everyone out now!”

Cas spotted a massive tunnel leading away from the lake. All were flying over boulders and pebbles alike towards darkness. With Sam's ample supply of flashlights they escaped from danger, and heard the waters crash and recede behind them. Butterflies ricocheted in Dean's gut and his pulse hammered when minutes later Crowley very cautiously presented them with the most significant of wisps from their current holdings.

“Jim, say hello.” The ethereal bluish wisp waved calmly, happily unraveling and twisting through Crowley's fingers. 

Dean couldn't yet speak, he was so overcome with relief, and a million other intense feelings. 

With a beautifully knowing smile, Crowley beckoned, “It's time, Castiel.”

“Time for what?” Cas queried.

“Old friend, if our centuries of history together ever meant anything to you, then _ please _ have faith in me. Let me make you whole again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Latin**  
Impetus Beastiarum//attacks of beasts  
Dele malum hoc//destroy these evil beings  
-SPN Wiki
> 
> "Proud and insolent youth, prepare to meet your doom!“ -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan  
"Dark and sinister man, have at thee.” -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


	30. Chapter 30

Crowley stood before Cas, giving him a small smile, aware of something the rest hadn't clued in on. 

_What was he saying? Old friend? Centuries?_ Cas sensed Crowley's emotional exhaustion and could see a telltale sadness in his eyes. This nephil hadn't let them down yet, Jim was safe in the hands of those who loved him most. Placing enormous trust in someone for the second time that night, Cas stepped forward, completely unsure of what would happen. 

Crowley issued an incantation. “_Conisa Pala Noalanu El."_

The silvery blue wisp flattened like a shiny disc, and the inner layers receded, forming a stunning ring of fire. 

What had he done to Jim?! He heard a cacophony of worry and wonder from the Neverlanders as Crowley carefully placed the ring of fire on the crown of Castiel's head and motioned for them to give him space. He could sense their silent awe in recognition of his halo. From the second it rested upon his head, Cas felt his eyes illuminating in a soft royal blue. His muscles seized, as if his body had gone into an electrical glitch. 

Familiarity dispersed through every atom and molecule in his body like dye dissolving in water. Memories he'd been told about and many things he hadn't known, were suddenly joining. Jim was with him. In his body, in his soul. The happiness of loving parents, playing in the untouched fields of home, watching movies with Hannah on the couch and eating popcorn. The pain of goodbye to Dean was excruciating, as was his tear-filled goodbye to Hannah.

Jim also reacted to Cas's life. Memories of his broth-no! His other self suffering. Love- _ they _ felt such love and protection for each other? Confusion set in. Memories settled around each other in a glorious snowfall. Other random memories from billions of years ago mingled from their grace and soul. Someone else had always been there. Someone familiar. 

Swords clanged, brethren called. His wings carried him great distances. Prayers were heard, oceans froze, animals crawled out. Surging anger towards family. The refuge of home no longer held peace. He was a star falling from the heavens, landing like a comet. Sorrow, guardianship, and love threaded through him. Pain and illness, then static.

He missed something. Without a vessel he blindly searched for what he felt calling. Every memory from Jim, Cas, and Castiel intertwined. Only seconds had passed. However, Castiel understood this reunification would take time. He stood tall, _finally_ remembering who he was. And _who_ had found him. 

“Fergus. M-bbest friend. Yyou-you've made me.._ me _ again. Thank you,” he issued, crushing Crowley with a hug. 

Crowley's smile was _ huge. _“Searched with no idea what had happened to you. I feared you were dead.”

“Nearly.” Castiel turned to Dean who appeared wholly uncertain about him.

“Dean?” Castiel cautiously addressed. The power to sense the radiating waves of severe emotional disorientation from Dean was jarring. Like a scanning/analysis program suddenly running much faster from a memory upgrade. The situational similarities were ironic. Identification of Dean's fear and grasp for understanding came with ease. His empath abilities were swift and strong, as was his relief at regaining a vital sense he'd been unaware of losing. He felt Dean struggling to assess if having gained someone he loved meant he'd lost another.

“Jim? I don't understand."

Castiel carefully reached for Dean, delicately holding his face. “You haven't lost anyone Dean. I'm here. All of me. Jimmy, Cas, and Castiel.” He watched Dean's facial features shift from one expression to another, and recognized he was still processing. But a particular aspect of his personality decided to peek out, breaking the ice.

With a mischievous sparkle in his eye he sassed, “Godammit you're old. And_ fucking HOT. _ How long was I dead?”

For a second, Dean seemed on the verge of tears. Then he smiled like the sun. “Let's see what your ass looks like after twenty years of therapy.”

“I honestly wanna find out. This is weird as hell.”

Dean held Castiel's cheek and whispered, “Is it really you?”

His answer came in the form of a whispered reply in his ear, so faint nobody else would've heard. “Remember the night, years ago with all the sex talk?”

Dean nodded his head, looking at him questioningly.

“You held me close and I told you, if I'd had the chance to live, when we were older, I wanted our first time making love to be under a sky full of falling stars.”

Tears immediately spilled down Dean's cheeks as his lips crushed against Castiel's, followed by sweet kisses peppering his face. 

When he finally pulled back, Castiel looked deeply into his eyes and assured him, “I never wrote that anywhere, nor told anyone. Your face has been the only thing I've thought of since leaving. I missed you.”

Dean became exceptionally bashful at the comment. “So uh, what do I call you? Jim? Castiel?”

He loved the look of awe on Dean's face and laughed, "I like Cas."

He turned to the family so each could reunite with the beloved friend who'd always remained with them in spirit. It was such a trip seeing all the familiar faces grown up, through new eyes.

“I’ll need to find someone who can deliver these children to Heaven since we're persona non grata,” Crowley forlornly stated to his mother. 

“No need,” came a commanding voice from mere yards away. “I guarantee proof of delivery.”

Cas noticed his old friend mentally grasping for something, as if _he_ alone knew that voice from somewhere. All eyes turned to the stunning figure by the lake’s edge. Its pristine waters now shimmered with diamonds, reflecting the millions of stars hovering above. A beautiful black woman with long ringlets and soul piercing eyes stood, as if she'd been observing them for some time. 

Cas watched Fergus slowly approach her. “Might you be in the business of saving souls from permanently treading water?”

“Might be. Typically I serve as a marker between one state and another.”

A connection existed between them, though what, Cas couldn't say. 

“Do they know each other?” Eileen asked.

“I'm not sure,” he answered, squinting and tilting his head.

“Then allow me to thank you properly, I'm Crowley.”

“Not originally.” Her unusual statement seemed to garner a visible thirst in him to know more. When their hands touched his body froze. She regarded him with a mask of stoicism, although Castiel sensed nervousness and wonder behind her cautiously placed ‘wall’.

“Have we met?” he inquired, visibly shaken.

“I've never met a Mr. Crowley before. But I know _you_.” Softly brushing her hand against his well groomed beard, her facade melted, revealing something distinctly profound between them. The woman leaned in, kissing him softly. 

Fergus stiffened, then tightly embraced her. “How? These memories, they aren't mine, are they? I want to remember. You're here though, and we were-”

“Executed,” she said, having anticipated his question. “I'm glad of it.”

“But, how are we here? There's no redemption for what we did, just the void,” he muttered with incredible shock and sadness.

“The universe is nothing, if not poetic. You yearn for penance, yet fail to recognize you're living it. This is what redemption looks like, Abel. For you and for me.” 

“Both of us? 

“Is that Nergal?” Sam quietly asked in a nerdtastic mythology fan meltdown. 

Apparently his voice wasn't quite low enough. “Sam Winchester. It's rare indeed when someone uses that name with me these days.”

That brought him up short. Cas saw Sam's concern that he'd offended her.

“I uhm, uh..I..”

“Relax. I'm here to help.” Turning back to Fergus, she explained. ”Forgiveness has been granted to you for some time now. Until you completely forgive yourself, this curse remains in place. I've been asked to prevent it from spreading further, and brought others unaffected by it.”

“Brought whom?” Fergus pondered.

“Reapers. They’re a different species from ferrymen, and immune to the curse.” Behind her, grey spectral forms flickered, revealing human faces flashing over their skulls, then disappearing.

Crowley groveled, “Your ferrymen, I'm sorry but they attacked us-”

“Easy love," she soothed, "if you remember our time in Mesopotamia like I do, you know you're a lover not a fighter.”

“Where’ve they come from?” Fergus asked, calming a little.

“Another universe. They have a healthy respect for balance and work well with others.”

“Another, you're not staying _ here _ then?” 

Cas sensed panic rise in his friend as his face fell.

“In this world lies _ your _ redemption, mine encompasses many. It's a process. Time will bring us together again. You have good work here, even more on the horizon.”

He became briefly pensive, then asked, “If this is our new forever, then what is your name?” 

Squeezing his hand she smiled wistfully. “Billie. All of you can call me Billie.”

“You’ll get them to Heaven?” he lovingly regarded the souls in his charge.

“I’ll deliver them myself. My thanks for the realm you've given them, and guardianship."

Cas saw great relief wash over him as he carefully handed her his precious children. 

“Thank you.”

“Goodbye isn’t forever my love. Remember that.”

He nodded and all watched as she took a few paces back, slowly dissipating into nothingness. 

Rowena placed a hand on his shoulder, Cas knew it was a rare gesture between them. 

They exited the cave into a stunning valley covered in beautiful yellow flowers. The very same Dean had seen periodically over the years.

“Caria, Turkey. Once part of the magnificent Byzantine Empire, and so named for the Kerria flower you see abundantly growing,” Fergus explained. 

“I've seen this flower in weird places ever since-” 

Cas saw Dean’s wide eyes turn inevitably towards him. He took a deep breath and confessed, “I wanted you to live well and love deeply Dean. Often Castiel, I, sent you thoughts of Kerria, they symbolize moving forward from the death of a loved one. The Goddess Nyx lost a beloved daughter here, she named this region and planted these flowers in hopes people would take comfort, looking to the future with hope.”

Dean gazed at him in wonder, holding his hand. 

~*~*~*~

Warmth and family greeted them in the bunker library. Balthazar and Ellen alerted the others to their return. The next few minutes were a flurry of hugs, tears, and awe. Then justified hurt and anger. Promise of a report was issued, but Cas rightfully wanted to speak with Hannah and Balthazar individually. When he authenticated himself it yielded gasps, tears, and joy.

Coffee was made, pies were reheated. Despite everyone's exhaustion, their families deserved answers.

“How long were we gone?” Benny wondered, holding Andrea close. 

“Two days,” John sighed, glad they'd all returned safely. 

The questions began pouring in. Hours went by as everything was revealed. Benny's curiosity piqued. “So Cas, are you full angel, wings and all?” 

“No, there's roughly half of my grace left. I'd chosen the meteor shower to cover my fall. Most of our grace resides in our higher selves, our halos.”

Balthazar was dying to know, “What happened to you? Everything with May was true?”

“I loved May, she would’ve been a joy to raise. But I refused to put her in danger. When she came of age, it was time to let her go. Heaven hadn't felt like home in a long time. Humans are different, I vastly prefer them to angels.”

Crowley raised a glass of Craig and concurred. “As do I my friend. But where did you go? How long did you live?” 

Thankful others were asking these questions, Dean felt content to quietly absorb.

“The vessel was dying of consumption, she viewed going home a kindness and gave consent. I'd no idea falling would bring the tuberculosis back. My vessel perished in the manner fate had dictated.”

Dean understood Crowley’s quiet melancholy. With diminished grace, forever was no longer in the cards. No adventure to another realm would save him. 

“It was well worth hiding the grace my vessel still had, giving May a good chance for a long life.”

Balthazar was speechless. Crowley was too. 

Eileen let the floodgates open. “But how didn't _ you _die? Is there an angel heaven? How are you still here?” 

“My grace splintered, tethering me to earth, leaving me to possibly cycle through countless lives until reunifying. It was pure luck we found our human vessels at relatively the same time.”

It seemed Crowley tried halfheartedly to conceal irritation at what he perceived as recklessness. “If you didn't know where your halo was, what possessed you to do this? If I hadn't found you then half of you could've been lost permanently!”

“I had to do something! It-I chose a human path. In hindsight it was the right choice; better than lingering as nothing for eternity.” 

Having a vague idea how long these two had been like brothers, their fussy exchange was a little amusing to Dean. 

“I wouldn't have let you be ferried to heaven, remaining shattered for all time. I intended on reuniting you, but the realm was overtaken before I could retrieve you.” 

“No explanation is needed. You found me, allowed me my choice, and protected what you could. Had you not intervened, I would’ve been scattered to the wind forever, given my celestial memory had been erased by reincarnating.”

“Did Jim have powers then, if most of the grace is contained within his portion, the halo?” Eileen mused.

“Outside of a vessel it's tremendously strong, which was why Charon was so pleased to have collected you. But yes, Jim-I was gifted.” 

Sam slid right in. “In what way?”

“He-I, this is confusing for me, sorry. These parts of myself will take some time adjusting to each other again. I was an empath. Feeling others emotions allowed me to be useful and listen, even when someone was unable to voice what was in their heart. Speaking of which, I'm glad my grace has kept this heart strong all the years.”

He placed his hand on Dean's chest with a mile wide grin on his face, which was so amazingly reminiscent of Jim.

“My heart, Jim's, has residual halo grace. Of course I had no idea back then, but it why I was so certain my heart would save you. When you threw my blade at Charon, you were channeling it.”

“Is that what I felt in Chaos? That pull in certain directions even though sometimes I couldn't see or hear anything?”

“It's a compass. One you followed well. That explains why my dreams about Jim started up when you moved to Lebanon. My grace in your heart and in this vessel were reacting to their proximity.”

The sound of a throat clearing snapped them out of the most intense, time stopping stare that they weren't aware they'd been engaged in. _ How rude. _

Suddenly arms were around them. A sniffle was heard, then a cacophony of giggles. 

~*~*~*~

“Fergus, I know nothing can replace Imperium Innocentia, but I can give the new realm a strong start. If you'll let me?”

Cas watched as Rowena delicately placed seeds from the tree of life in his hand.

She whispered “_Nollaig Chridheil.” _

The pleasant shock emanating from Crowley relieved Cas, for he alone knew the burdens the nephil carried, and how deserving of such a gift he truly was. Before the son could reply to the mother, she gracefully disappeared. 

“I'd offer to help rebuild, but I'm no longer up to the task.”

Cas's sentiments were waved off with a sudden grin from Crowley, gesturing to the bunker and its jovial inhabitants. “Get yourself well.”

Nodding in answer, Cas quietly chuckled. 

Crowley began, ”Dean is a monumental pain in the-” 

“Too late, you already gave your approval,” Cas winked at the nephil.

“Ferociously,” Crowley's visage lit up with stubborn mischief and a twinkle in his eyes, ”enjoy your happily ever after. I’d say you've earned it.”

As he felt Dean's fingers warmly lace through his own, Cas asked, “You'll manage with one less ‘lost’ boy, my friend?” The smallest hint of playfulness lingered in his demeanor.

“Lost who?” Dean inquired of them.

Crowley pointedly regarded Cas in bemusement, then addressed Dean. “I've a world to create before collecting my children from Abbadon. I can never thank you and your family enough. Castiel and I have had countless journeys together. It's time he has his own, with you.”

Dean silently questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“To live would be an awfully big adventure,” Crowley left hanging, for Dean to grasp. He was there one second and gone the next. 

They began the rigmarole of disentangling from family with a promise they'd text with welfare updates, then embarked for the quiet of Cas's orchard. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It became clear to me very early on once I started writing Crowley's role in the story, that he needed resolution as much as Dean and Cas. I wanted it for him so badly and he's grown as dear to me as our boys. Did Cas explain his story clearly enough? Questions?
> 
> "To live would be an awfully big adventure." -J.M. Barrie
> 
> **Enochian**  
“Conisa Pala Noalanu El//Make two become one
> 
> **Scottish Gaelic**  
Nollaig Chridheil//Merry Christmas


	31. Chapter 31

Once upstairs, Dean sensed the emotional weight that Cas had been bottling since they'd returned, sloughing off in waves of Chaos grime and fatigue while showering. After toweling off, Cas wrapped himself in a blanket, trudging into the bedroom. 

Following into the darkened room, Dean froze as his boyfriend's eyes ignited in cerulean luminescence. The stare alone effectively put him into fight or flight mode. Hairs on the back of his neck stood painfully on end, as did the hair on his arms when lights began flickering; those in the bedroom exploded in a rain of sparks. This was not Jimmy. This was not Cas. And yet, celestial eyes were roaming over his chest, abdomen, and sternum in a primal manner. He was unsure what kind of appetite was driving this suddenly present and unknown creature. Was he food or sex? 

He realized he was retreating from Cas, or was this, “C-ca..stiel?”

In response, this celestial being lifted his ethereal eyes to meet Dean's, boring into his soul. 

“Hello Dean.”

_ Oh Shit. _

Indifferent to the blanket slipping from his shoulders to the floor, Castiel's eyes never broke their searing gaze, while advancing in a predatory manner over the bed completely naked, unequivocally terrifying, and breathtakingly gorgeous.

“W-woah-woah! Hey! The sun's gettin’ low buddy, sun’s gettin’ real low,” Dean stammered, watching the unfamiliar movements of the angel approaching him. “W-where’ve you been?”

The angel, who absolutely did not understand that reference, craned his neck in the most jaw dropping head tilt which had never looked more natural on anyone, ever. Period. 

Dean's heart raced as cataloged memories fired off in his brain consisting of the physical gestures and mannerisms that _ were _familiar to him. Both Jim and Cas had in fact possessed the same head tilt, the same hungry look in their eyes, the same posture indicating a desperate need for something only he could give them, at different times in his life. Standing before him now was the sum of all parts he so loved and cherished. The one he’d yet to officially acquaint himself with.

“Listening…Waiting.” When the last word fell from his lips the angel tore his eyes from Dean's chest to peer at him, taking in every nanosecond of his reaction. 

A sharp intake of breath sliced between them as he registered the warmth of a finger ghosting down the skin of his sternum over the scar, the symbolic wound of his past. His abdominal muscles instinctively tightened in response to the finger trailing down to the tip of the blade above his belly button. A silent whimper escaped his lips, while foreign sensations of cold stitches lacing together over his skin wove their way along the path the angel’s finger had taken.

“Waiting?” Dean breathlessly asked.

Castiel's unrelenting expression had nailed him to the wall. The angel was still searching, for what? His face was inches from his own, every nerve ending Dean possessed was alive with low running currents. The strongest concentration of them abruptly clustered under a fiery touch by the angel. Heat was radiating from Castiel's hand, which he'd delicately placed on his left shoulder, fingers spread, pausing in painful restraint. 

The angel’s eyes, wild and imploring, conveyed an emanating need. It nearly broke Dean's heart and without even thinking, his own hand found itself firmly resting on Castiel's waist. In less than a heartbeat the angel’s lips were crushing against his, demanding and loving all at once. An inferno exploded in Dean's chest and rippled throughout his limbs, as hands pinned him against the wall and the body in front of him melded to his own.

_Permission. _That's what this otherworldly entity had been waiting for. And now that he had it, the previously restrained energy surging below the surface was unleashed. It was everywhere all at once, emotions from this inhuman entity were blasting into Dean. He could feel the timeless love this creature possessed through the deep kisses stealing his breath away. The enduring desire to protect and cherish him flowed back and forth as Castiel undulated against him, providing warmth. 

Dean registered the angel’s crushing grip around his hips, holding them in place while an exquisite pressure smoothly slid up and down against his lengthening shaft and tummy. Castiel hadn't broken the kiss, yet Dean could see even through his tightly shut eyelids the soft glow of grace which periodically monitored him, although for what he wasn't sure. 

The love, sorrow, fear, and overwhelming need this angel was somehow sharing with him was almost too much to process for Dean. Understanding took hold that this was the precise struggle for Castiel. The angel could no longer contain, nor control what he'd been feeling, because he'd had no help filtering the flood of emotions.

It seemed love was most prevalent, and at the moment it was thoroughly saturated in its most primal form. This was a form Dean knew well, and relished in its expression. If Castiel, heavens most courageous warrior, _needed _to express this, then God dammit Dean was going to let him, no matter how long it took to get it out of his system. The raw intent, love, and power rolling off this mythical creature was incredible. 

The angel's hot mouth feathered and sucked kisses down his throat while quickening the pace he knew they were hurtling towards. Urging him along, Dean grabbed handfuls of Castiel's pliant cheeks, yanking him in even closer. Countering the guy’s hip movements, rubbing their hard, dripping cocks together, elicited ragged breaths from them both. 

He could feel himself lifted like a feather, his legs comfortably wrapped around the angel’s waist. Castiel's growing hunger for him was evident by the way his lips made love to his own with a passion endeavoring to light the bedroom on fire. The desperate moans he made into Dean's mouth vibrated on his tongue and reverberated in his chest, rippling down to the tip of his now painfully hard cock. Every roll of his hips causing the delectable friction between them was a plea. 

_ Let me make love to you. Please. _

Dean wasn't sure how in the hell he'd heard that because the angel's lips were still urgently moving against his. Yet it had been issued with the sharpest clarity and most tender love he'd ever felt. He could actually _ feel _ limitless love from grace and soul coursing through him.

_ Mine. And yours. My love and grace permeated through Jim and Cas's love. As they fell for you, I fell for you. Your love for them drew in my grace and bound itself. Because you chose to love us. _

Dean was keenly aware of a lightness he'd never known. Something within had departed, and he didn't care to spend another second trying to identify it. 

Castiel looked him deep in the eyes and spoke to him. Ensuring he was heard and more importantly, understood. “Let me in. Make room in your herculean heart for me. Please.”

The ardent request both shattered and emboldened his heart. “Y-yyes. I want you. Please, I need you, so so much.”

Castiel set him down, and spun him around flush with the wall, gingerly rubbing his fingers over his tight entrance. A strange sensation had Dean jumping, but not from pain. The angel must've sensed his trepidation and immediately covered his body with his own. Turning Dean back around, his hand moved down to firmly stroke them both while delivering soothing kisses. Castiel came fast and hard, groaning and bracing himself against the wall with his free hand. 

Dean could've been disappointed with the early finish. But he wasn't. Castiel likely just had his first orgasm, _ever._ Dean _very _promptly realized the angel was still hard as marble, and the lustful luminescence flaring from his eyes assured him that he needn't worry about his grace's drive waning anytime soon._ Hot. Fucking. Damn._

Caressing the angel’s face, he directed his eyes downward to watch as he wiped the come from his tummy and gently massaged it into the sensitive, swollen head of his cock. Castiel feasted his eyes on the scene, and Dean was relieved the angel seemed to share every bit of the cum kink his boyfriend..well now, both, ugh Cas did. Dean dropped to his knees, gazing back up at him with a silent and desperate plea, which the angel instantly recognized, and granted his request with intense enthusiasm. Cradling the back of Dean's head, Castiel eased his cock into his mouth. Happiness at the knowledge he could satisfy such a powerful creature rushed through his veins. Could've been the endorphins too, but why split hairs?

The angel looked positively euphoric while Dean sucked his cock as hard and deep as he could. Breathless moans fell from Castiel's mouth with each thrust, and soon Dean felt hot liquid gushing down his throat and spill from his lips. Roughly stroking the angel through the remaining pulses, he used the thick head to wipe cum from his cheek and chin, then he greedily swallowed. Castiel pulled Dean up with a growl and kissed his cum coated mouth.

“You can keep going, can't you?” Dean asked with unadulterated lust and wonder, feeling the proof against his belly. The small, one sided grin on Cas's face lit his loins ablaze. 

Dean promised, “I want you to make love to me. You will.” 

As Dean spoke, an increasingly blue hue in his vision took over. He recognized his own eyes were aglow again, grace was pumping through him unlike anything he'd felt before. It was fan-fucking-tastic. Giving Castiel a carnal smirk, he dutifully informed, “But right now Angel, you need to fuck. _Hard. _Let's unleash some of that pent up energy.” 

He didn't have to tell Castiel twice. He flipped himself around and felt that odd sensation again, the warm tingling around his hole as loving fingers caressed him. 

He looked back in question, “Lube?”

“Not on special occasions,” came a heady reply in his ear. The vocal vibration sent an electrical surge down his leg. But Dean didn't seem to mind it as much with a distracting hand between his legs. Seconds later the angel stepped back, and kneed his legs apart, yanking his hips out from the wall. Castiel somehow slid aaallll the way home, without causing any discomfort. In fact, Dean found himself panting and gasping from the sudden fullness. He wanted to cry for lack of movem-_Uh!_

_Oh. My. Stars._ He was quite literally seeing stars, as the angel held his hips with a pelvic crushing grip while slamming into him. Forget about walking bowlegged, he wouldn't be able to sit for a month after this, if ever. The thought crossed his mind Castiel might just actually fuck him within an inch of his life. _But what a way to go._The angel’s thrusts slowed while coming a third time. He leaned forward, still impossibly hard, placing kisses on the back of Dean's now sweaty neck and effortlessly picked him up, cradling him close to his chest. 

He moved swiftly, sitting in the plush armchair. Castiel kissed Dean with both fervor and reverence, persuading him to lay his back against his chest, resting his head on his shoulder. Holding Dean close against his chest, he continued kissing his lips and brushing his tongue with his own. Tilting his hips, his cock nudged against Dean's hole. In one fluid motion Dean sank down on his cock. He felt Castiel grip and rub his balls with a slick, warm hand while the relentless rhythm pounding him was spiraling into a seriously intimidating orgasm. No longer able to shut his mouth, all manner of obscene sounds and strings of words resembling depraved begging tumbled out. 

His thoughts were barely coherent but he knew he wanted Castiel's hand and his whine for it was embarrassingly needy. But Castiel had come three times so far to his none, how was that fair? Fuck it, with the noises now coming from the angel and that blue betraying his need; hell, the whole situation in general. Dean's orgasm barreled through him and this magnificent creature held him through it, riding the pulses with him in his own orgasm. His writhing on Cas yielded quite a mess. But it also resulted in fingers through his hair, gripping the strands, and other-wordly growling from a divine being, against his lips.

Once again he found himself lifted, only this time a cozy memory foam greeted him as he was nimbly placed on the bed, as he would a breathtaking treasure, and his skin became covered with an angel's ravenous lips. As Castiel was showering his shoulders with sensuous bites, fingers grazed over his tattooed wings.

“Oh-OOH” he gasped. Castiel's touch went right through him, as if fingers were combing through feathered appendages he'd never known he'd had. He felt a cooling breeze moving against his skin as if the feathers themselves were moving. 

“Shhhh. I've never seen anything more stunning in all the universe than my wings’ likeness on you. You truly are _ mine.” _

_Oh. _Dean understood Castiel's reaction now. From a specimen of a dominant species, viewing his mark of protection upon him, especially in the form of such a serious warning as Crowley had bestowed, was satisfying to the angel. The angel who continued assaulting him with more hocus pocus wing fuckery. 

If he thought his skin was sensitive a few weeks ago, then Jesus H. Christ he was damn near screeching in pleasure now. Absorbing each and every nip was nearly too much, as each was followed by a burning mouth and tongue sucking away the minor stings of delicious pain. 

The swift return of acute need pointedly made itself known rather abruptly. Castiel knelt on the bed, as Dean let his knees fall in a welcoming gesture to fill him back up, _please._ With no rest for the wicked his cock was getting the attention it craved again, while the angel effortlessly slid back inside, granting that wish to its fullest. Literally. Castiel had left his orgasmic satisfaction intact, yet gifted him blissful recovery to begin anew. Suddenly he was twirled in a blur, sitting on Castiel’s lap on the bed without missing a single inch of him. He wrapped his legs around the beautiful man that was his, gripped his angel's neck tightly while he himself was held close, and Castiel began the slow build of making love to him.

“I love you so, so much Dean. I missed you when we were apart and crave you now. All grown and good. So deserving of every ounce of love this grace and vessel can give.”

As Dean was held and rocked by Cas, his angel gifted him mind-numbing pleasure. He was filled, stretched, nudged, while the angel’s hands skated over his wings, causing chills and shivers with each gentle thrust. He gazed at Cas's soft blue eyes, an ocean of time and space within them. Time he was happy to lose himself in as he'd found an angle and rhythm which brought out those stars yet again. 

His movements grew more vigorous and swift. He felt himself tightening and squeezing around Cas whenever he'd slide down, meeting the quickening upward thrusts. Every drive of his cock, every thorough punch against the sacred spot with a twisting grind of his hips, took him apart piece by piece. This was bliss. This was heaven. He felt every wave of pleasure throughout his entire being.

“I love you Castiel. I love you.”

Their eyes brilliantly shone like mini skies. Amazement at being able to feel what Castiel was feeling in the moment they both came made Dean's head swim, as if floating on lofty clouds of perfection. Despite it being pitch dark outside, Dean's mood couldn't help shine like the sun at what had just occurred.

Fingers were ghosting over his wings again sometime later, in patterned spirals. 

“Hey Jimmy,” Dean smiled while kissing him hello. 

“It's still just me. More solid. But I'll always enjoy his eternal youth and humor.”

He and Castiel hadn't moved from their post coital cocoon. Fingers deftly spun tendril-like circles on his left shoulder, which seemed to be the most sensitive spot of all. He wondered why that was, but then dismissed the thought as everything else in general about Castiel, and them both, was equally as mysterious and wondrous.

It would take time to settle and process. Time he'd once desperately prayed for and now was granted. His angel wouldn't live forever. Neither would he. But now they'd been given a chance for ‘somewhat’ normal, which was all they'd ever wanted. 

“A normal life with you _ is _ my heaven Dean. You're my heaven on Earth. I love you to Neverland and back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna apologize for throwing in an angel sex-a-thon. Nope.


	32. Chapter 32

_ **New Year's Eve 2015** _

The days leading up to the New Year were unusually quiet. Cas enjoyed curling up in bed or on the couch with Dean, both respectively processing past and present. He'd also offered an unexpected confession, which Dean received with considerable surprise. 

Reuniting the splintered pieces of his grace restored a long absent equilibrium. And yet, he refused to recognize it as anything but a foundation on which to build and heal. He'd been at odds, internally struggling with identity long before he fell, and his traumatic experiences while human had taken an irrevocable toll. 

“I want to keep seeing Marv. It's good to feel more me but, I think, I need,” he paused, in search of the right words to explain.

“Help?”

Cas was straddling his lap on the couch in an affectionate mood when noting Dean's astonishment at his epiphany.

“I have memory from all three lives? aspects? and experienced trauma in each. Never learned how to cope with feelings very well until I saw Marv. I shouldn't have stopped.”

“My mother used to say angels were watching over me. I always thought they were fearless. Absolute.” 

“Apparently I rolled off the assembly line different somehow. Sorry to burst your bubble.” Minor twinges of inadequacy began rising until Dean replied. 

“Are you kidding? It's a relief knowing you don't have all the answers. Might be weird, but I love you even more _ because _ you’re different.”

“I might even be cursed, given my run of luck.”

“Well I'd rather have you, cursed or not.”

Cas couldn't help the uplifting smile creeping over his face at Dean's support. “Before falling, nobody cared I was broken. Except Fergus. Thank you for loving every remnant of me.”

Dean buried his face in Cas's neck, as if to breathe him in and just be. “Think Crowley can swing a guys’ night once in a while? He seems to 'get you.’”

“We have much in common, yes. He'll listen.”

“Keep seeing Marv like you’ve been doing. Crowley can help with the crap Marv would lock you in a padded room for. And I'm here.”

“I’m grateful.”

~*~*~*~

Sam was setting up the library tables when his brother and Cas barged through the garage door hauling several containers of party food for the evening's festivities. He welled with happiness seeing both more zen than ever, and couldn't wait to see what other healthy improvements the New Year had in store. For the last time that year, the Neverlanders broke bread with their families, celebrating the impossible. 

Everyone ate like prize hogs, so it surprised Sam after dinner when some became afflicted with an itch brought on by unseasonably warm, dry weather. He watched Cas pulled out gloves, a ball, and even a football, presenting Dean with a choice. A glow of unexpected recognition shone in his brother's eyes, like there was a treasured inside joke between the two Sam would never clue in on. 

Dean shook his head and with a hint of rosey cheeks explained, ”To everything there is a season Cas. Spring'll be here before we know it, along with the White Sox, peaches, and whipped cream.”

Sam did _not_ want to know why peaches and whipped cream were causing such a flummoxed expression on Cas. Thankfully, Jo turned his mind sharply away from the topic. Swiping Cas's ball and gloves he'd dropped on the table, she grabbed Sam's hand, tugging him outside with Balthazar and Hannah for a nostalgic game of catch sans mezzanine.

“I wanna make sure Eileen-”

Balthazar quickly pointed out, “She conquered an unaccommodating world a long time ago Sam. Besides, look how your father dotes on her. He and Ellen will be fluent in no time.”

Glancing back towards the hallway, he saw his dad and girlfriend engaged in an ASL tutorial, both laughing at how badly John was massacring ‘Happy New Year’. Balthazar was right. He relaxed into a comforting game among people he cherished. He noted Cas radiating a new calm and joy. The man no longer carried the burden of concealment and fear of rejection. Sam thanked the stars it was yet another miracle for his friend who deserved so many. 

~*~*~*~

They played as long as they could before the sun went down, falling into a familiar rhythm of throw, catch, banter, repeat. Cas remembered how the beautiful simplicity of it had once wielded enough power to still the raging tempest within a frail boy with stunning green eyes. 

He clung to the memory, cataloging it under “Even more special.” It was the very first since Chaos that hadn't ping ponged for assignment between “Jim's? Castiel’s?” When it softly entered his mind, he noted it existed as “mine.” 

Before decimating the pie and diving into karaoke, he picked up on nervous energy from Dean, as he herded everyone into the library for an unscheduled toast. Earlier, his boyfriend had claimed him for himself when the clock would strike midnight. 

Dean stood at the head of the table clutching a worn leather bound journal. Setting it down carefully, he addressed his family using both word and sign.

“Family tradition dictates we kick off the shenanigans by sharing our hopes for the New Year. We're breaking tradition tonight. I wanna read something that'll take us all back a few years. It reminds us how far we've come is sometimes more important than how much further we want to go.”

Everyone quieted, recognizing whatever possessed Dean to change things up, must carry significant weight.

“An incredible entry in this journal was written twenty years ago tonight by an old friend. The reason it's so incredible, is not because they’re the hopes and wishes from a time when aside from each other, that's about all we had. But because they’re the last words ever written by him, period.”

Cas knew by heart what those pages held. He'd read them more times than he could count. But he'd also penned them, despite never having known it, until recently. He'd grown to love the people Jim had written about and their unfailing devotion to each other, never dreaming that one day fate would bring them together. 

Dean read the words written with unfathomable courage and timeless love, hoping it would bring resolution to those he cared for most.

_ **New Year's Day 1996** _

1:24 am

_ Time's up. Been a good run. Not sure if it's shock, but I’m calm. Said goodbye to Hannah yesterday while Dean was resting. It was harder than I expected. We both agreed not to go through it again in the morning. He's gonna be okay. Not for a while, but Dr. Roche will help him. If I could choose anybody for my brother it's that guy. Dean was right. Hannah does get mushy when he comes around and it makes me happy for him. _

_ All of us were hanging out in Neverland earlier, sharing our wishes for the New Year. Zeke just wants us all feeling good enough to go home. _

“Zeke got his wish that year, and for a little over ten more we were lucky to have him. He's probably singing Rainbow Connection with Garth Piggy on a log somewhere right now,” Dean chuckled with his family.

_ Benny wants the Saints to win the Superbowl. _

Barely speaking above a trembling whisper Dean issued, “It was a long time coming. One of NOLA's darkest stretches. So what a year to grab a win, huh?” 

“Amen, brother!” Benny cheered back at Dean, grinning ear to ear. 

_ Charlie wants to steal Saddam Hussein's money, and donate it to charities for Ash and Garth. _

Dean stood tall when regarding Charlie. ”Sure, that would've done some good. But so do you Red. Everyday you work hard keeping online monsters away from kids. Ash and Garth would be damn proud.”

She fist pumped the air above her head, and giggled when Jo delivered a stealthy kiss on her cheek. 

_ My wish is already coming true. Hannah's been working at Pfizer for almost six months. He's right where he needs to be, I can feel it. Dean's wish was a great idea and made me really happy to think about. He hopes one day- _

Dean had to take a few seconds to wipe a few tears. He was far from alone, and pressed on.

_ -a couple of decades from now we'll all be together chowing on good food and having fun like families do. _

“Who said dreams can't come true, huh?”

_ Neverland is a home I never expected. We're here because we've lost something. Some kids like me won't ever get to leave. Technically. But in a few hours I'll be on a different shore, having new adventures. My brother, my friends, my boyfriend..my family, they'll miss me. God, I'm gonna miss them too, so much. But you can't find something unless you lose it first. And when you do, it won't be the same as when you lost it. It'll be different. It can be better. _

_ This isn't the end. Us Neverlanders are forever. They'll recover, grow up, do great things. And when they're ready, they'll find me. Not exactly the me they knew, but better. Stronger. I have no fucking clue how I know this. Sometimes I weird even myself out with this Dr. Strange bizarro shit. But in case somebody reads this book of ramblings in the future, a famed author once wrote~ _

_ “You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting.” _

The dead silence stretching on indicated everyone's scope of understanding about the universe they lived in had just broadened. It would take awhile to process. Holding Cas's hand, Dean felt more stable and calm than he'd felt in years. And Cas was never more grateful for the power to sense that.

Raising a beer to everyone present, Dean shared, “I wish for _ this _\- That this table remains filled with family and food every year. And we remember the good people we miss, but always make room for more.”

“Cheers!” 

“Now who's ready for some Journey?” 

Cas was exhilarated by the brilliant spirit rolling off Dean and the others. The fun began with some out of this world pie a la Bradbury. Jo, Charlie, Andrea, and Eileen had a blast with _ YMCA _ karaoke. Ellen and John drank enough liquid courage to perform Dolly and Kenny's _ Islands in the Stream. _

Hannah and Balthazar were a fucking riot decked out in atrocious New Year’s hats, glasses, and feather boas. Dean decided to take full advantage of that, recruiting them for back-up with his next song. After having crooned a few Journey songs, Dean pulled up another. His demeanor shifted, became soft, as the stringed instruments from a classical era made love to a bass guitar growing more prevalent. 

_ "Do we make sense, I think we do _

_ In spite of everything that we've been through _

_ Oh and you say black and I say white _

_ It's not about who's wrong _

_ As long as it feels right _

_ Don't think those stars won't align _

_ Under your scars I pray _

_ You're like a shooting star in the rain _

_ You're everything that feels like home to me, yeah _

_ Under your scars, I could live inside you time after time _

_ If you'd only let me live inside your mind _

_ Live inside your mind" _

The night wore on as did song after song, until the War Room vibes were dripping with buzzed and happy, save for designated driver Cas. He accepted the microphone from Dean, preferring to wait until quiet revelry took hold for the night. Queing up the song selections, Cas found one he felt couldn't be more fitting for him, _all of him_. As the quiet piano began to play, everyone snuggled close to each other, ready to enjoy a song from the brother, best friend, and boyfriend they loved so much.

~*~*~*~

Unbeknownst to the spirited Neverlanders, an invisible presence had been standing in the corner by the instrument panel, observing the family's jovial frivolity for some time. He soaked in the musical waves with wistful pleasure. His heart was full of peace, listening to a dear friend sing. 

_ “There was a time when I was alone _  
_ Nowhere to go and no place to call home _  
_ My only friend was the man in the moon _ _  
And even sometimes he would go away, too_

Another, much smaller presence made itself known to him, with the quietest echoes of wind chimes.

.°••*•**..*°°•

“I politely declined. Tonight is for them.”

_ Then one night, as I closed my eyes _  
_ I saw a shadow flying high _  
_ He came to me with the sweetest smile _  
_ Told me he wanted to talk for awhile _  
_ He said, "Peter Pan, that's what they call me _ _  
I promise that you'll never be lonely," and ever since that day_

*.•°•..* *° *.••**•.•°

“He's grown now, in his own way.” The man in black gazed upon Cas with a bittersweet fondness, shedding a few tears.

_ I am a lost boy from Neverland _  
_ Usually hanging out with Peter Pan _  
_ And when we're bored we play in the woods _  
_ Always on the run from Captain Hook _  
_ "Run, run, lost boy," they say to me _  
_ Away from all of reality _  
_ Neverland is home to lost boys like me _ _  
And lost boys like me are free_

_ ..*.*•*.°•...•°*.° _

“Mother, one hardly needs wings for an adventure.”

_ He sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe _  
_ Believe in him and believe in me _  
_ Together we will fly away in a cloud of green _  
_ To your beautiful destiny _  
_ As we soared above the town that never loved me _  
_ I realized I finally had a family _  
_ Soon enough we reached Neverland _  
_ Peacefully my feet hit the sand _ _  
And ever since that day_

_ ..•°*.••..°°*.°• _

_ “ _He may, but it'll remain open for him, and for Dean, when that day comes.”

  
_ Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, Wendy Darling _  
_ Even Captain Hook, you are my perfect storybook _  
_ Neverland, I love you so _  
_ You are now my home sweet home _ _  
Forever a lost boy at last_

_ *•.•*°•°.•**•..•*•**°.° _

_ “ _Oidhche Challainn sona, to you as well.”

~*~*~*~

When Cas finished the song and departed for the garage with Dean, he spotted the flash of a vanishing green pocket square. Smiling to himself, he greatly looked forward to catching up soon with his most faithful friend, and thoughtfully wished him a fruitful New Year.

Although they'd planned on coming home early, Cas wasn't privy to any plans Dean had in mind other than just being together. His boyfriend emanated a peaceful exuberance while leisurely leading him by hand through the orchard. The night was clear and the moon gloriously bright. Weaving between the trees to a clearing, Cas beheld a peculiar scene.

“Should I head back for s'mores and a flashlight?” he amusedly asked.

Grinning widely, Dean pulled him towards the cozy tent supplied with mountains of blankets, pillows, and a memory foam mattress awaiting them.

Cas let himself be tugged onto the comfy mountain, and be snuggled on to his back. “Most people favor the warmth of spirits and four insulated walls on this night,” he sweetly remarked.

Dean brushed along his jawline softly, pausing in between kisses and replied, “Most people don't get everything that matters to them in their arms, and a killer opportunity to make a twenty year old wish come true.”

_ Fair enough_. Although Cas wondered which wish he was referring to. He'd been relishing Dean's gentle affections and roaming hand unzipping his jeans, when a whisper against his ear sent the most delectable chills down his spine.

“Eyes on the skies Cas. Relax and enjoy the show.”

He was certainly savoring the show unfolding in the tent, yet discovered the rain cover missing and a stunning array of stars gazing back at them. 

They came in twos and threes at first, green flashes blazing and zooming in their orbit near the outer atmosphere. 

“I believe Stargazing was on your 'If I Survive’ list. Those trails of green are the Perseid's Meteor Shower. My Prince Charming _ behold, _ your sky full of falling celestial bodies...” 

Cas was suddenly overcome with so much happiness, he thought he'd burst. While busy trying to tear off his clothes in unbridled enthusiasm, Dean himself erupted in laughter at how quickly his eyes had lit up in a kind of blue optical boner alert. ”Just slow yer roll there Optimus Prime, they'll be flashing and falling for a few hours at least. We can take as long as we want. Besides, I want to give you something.”

He watched Dean shift to just shy of nervous while carefully fishing something out of his jacket pocket. With a quiet question lingering between them, he opened his hand to reveal a beautiful hand painted set of wing pendants. 

“Y-you kept them? All this time?” Cas was utterly speechless as his heart fluttered at the memory of his teen self receiving the precious gift from John. He could see Dean mentally stumbling, trying not to betray how close the water works really were. 

“Always. The boy who saved my life, his unexpected brother I fell in love with, and the angel behind them both. I love all of you.” Dean kissed him deeply, and Cas felt the truth of those words with his whole heart. The heart he knew in every way was his. Midnight approached, and the New Year was ushered in with gentle vows and intimate promises while making love under a sky full of shooting green stars. 

Both had been ships living adrift on a tumultuous sea, desperately trying to stay afloat. With the courage and strength they'd found in each other, their brilliant future awaited on the second star to the right, just beyond the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I need to say a big THANK YOU for reading this fic. It's very dear to my heart and I'm glad you took a chance on a story that by bang rules, had to be tagged as underage, then knowing that also meant zero smut during the era of underage, yet you tested the waters anyways. It also began with Dean and NOT Cas, and involved the difficult subject matters of children, hospitals, and dying. I'm so thankful you took the risk and sincerely hope it was well worth it!
> 
> EASTER EGGS. Did ya spot them? If so, which ones? Hopefully you caught a few!
> 
> I also hope the ending is not taken as a Dean/Cas/Jimmy pairing(not that there's ANY problem with that dynamic at all). My intent was to honor the canon iterations of Cas I feel have been the most pivotal in his journey so far, as we are in the final stretch of the show. His presence would not have been possible without Jimmy's permission and sacrifice. Castiel the angel, has very much indeed suffered traumas at the hands of his supposed family and will likely bare those scars for the duration of his existence. Cas the evolved angel, who has experienced being human, also suffered trauma. I didn't want his reunifying to serve as some miracle cure for his mental health issues. They've made it clear in canon that being angel doesn't mean emotional immunity from damaging events. This is why I have Cas pursuing continued help for himself from appropriate avenues. Angel or human, our existence is a journey, not a destination and there will never be a moment we can say there's no room for improvement. 
> 
> Okay enough. I'll shut up. But seriously..thank you for taking the journey with this Dean and Cas, and I wish this fandom luck in weathering the storm of the century, aka, this last season. May the odds be ever in Destiel's favor!  
P.S.-Perseid's Meteor Shower...not a winter occurrence but I used the excuse of the AU to make it happen.
> 
> **Scottish Gaelic**  
Oidhche Challainn sona//Happy Hogmanay-Scottish New Year
> 
> “You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting.” -J.M. Barrie  
"Under Your Scars" is a song I love by Godsmack.  
"Lost Boy" by the lovely Ruthie B. had me crying for days way before I even wrote this fic and had me crying buckets again as I finished writing it.


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